


Sea-Wolf

by thefutureisequalaf



Category: Merlin (TV), Vikings (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/F, Historical Fantasy, Morgana doesn't go to the dark side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-07-04 07:57:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefutureisequalaf/pseuds/thefutureisequalaf
Summary: Morgana would never have imagined that a Viking raider would be honest and honorable. She also wouldn’t have imagined that the people she trusted most would lie to her. But using the former to deal with the latter? Oh, yes, she could imagine that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Setting relative to _Merlin_ canon: a scenario where Morgana overhears her identity shortly after the manifestation of her magic, and prior to meeting Morgause.  
>  Setting relative to _Vikings_ canon: sometime after Lagertha and Ragnar separate.  
>  Setting relative to historical chronology: I don't care
> 
> Thanks to [@just-morgana](https://just-morgana.tumblr.com/), [@malenamoonlight](https://malenamoonlight.tumblr.com/), and [@queenofkategat](https://queenofkategat.tumblr.com/) for helping me catch up on these series :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: There’s an attempted sexual assault near the end of this chapter. It occupies 1.5 sentences and is stopped immediately.

It was a fearful thing, the truth.

She was the King’s daughter. She was a sorceress. These were fundamental truths of her life, and they were hers to know. They were her birthright.

Yet some people, it seemed, thought they could do better than the truth. She seethed with anger because of them: Uther, for not embracing her as his daughter; Gaius, for lying instead of helping her understand herself – and only the gods know what was really in his sleeping potions. Hypocrites, all of them. They deserved whatever fate might have in store for them.

Then again, if she kept thinking like that, then so did she. If she… if she let her anger rule her, if she tried to hurt them the way they’d hurt her, then every close-minded, heartless, cruel word Uther ever uttered about people with magic would be true of her. What point was there in taking revenge on him for being wrong, if in doing so she made him right? No. There had to be some… alternative. A middle path between a nemesis and an all-forgiving, ever-compliant daughter.

In the familiar confines of Camelot, however, Morgana couldn’t focus; her attention returned again and again to the pain heaped upon her. She needed to get out, so she saddled her horse and rode towards the coast. Almost an hour after departing, her mind settled, and a world of possibilities opened to her. She could show everyone that the royal ward possessed both Pendragon blood and magic, and force the King to accept or condemn her. But force him how? Maybe she could continue her role as royal ward, make Uther’s death look natural, and guide Arthur in ruling with justice and compassion – no. No murder. Damn Uther to hell, but to stay in Camelot after sending him there, she’d have to lie to her ‘friends’, and that would make her as foul as them. Maybe the thing to do was forget them and leave. There had to be some community in this mean, cloying, twisted world that would welcome a royal bastard with magic. The Druids would probably let her stay, if she could find them again…

Wisps of smoke from beyond a hill recalled Morgana’s attention to the present. She rode now in open space between a forest and a line of hills along the seashore. It was the safest route, comfortably distant from any outlaws the trees might conceal and out of sight of any raiding ships. The area was scarcely inhabited – that’s why she’d chosen it – so why was there a fire by the shore? She sighed at herself – she was still thinking like a noble of the King’s court, concerned with things like responsibility and security. A fire in the middle of nowhere wasn’t her problem. Let it burn.

A moment later, she sighed again and steered her horse towards the smoke. If it came from a raiding party’s cooking fires, and she rode by without checking, and the next day heard that a village had been burned – well, that was something King Uther would do. She wasn’t going to turn into her miserable bastard of a father.

Spurring her horse towards the crest of the hill and the shore beyond, it occurred to Morgana that, if she was taking this seriously, she’d go slow. Really, she should dismount and move quietly. A scout would approach the top of the hill on hands and knees, so as not to be seen. Whatever. If she saw anyone, she’d gallop away.

As she reached the crest of the hill, five figures in mixed leather and mail armor stood from the other side. The middle three drew bows and the other two hefted axes and round shields. The one in the center, a fierce-looking woman with rows of rough blonde braids, warned, “I can’t miss from this distance, lady.”

Morgana had to agree, which meant both her horse’s speed and the sword at her hip were useless to her. She wasn’t about to experiment with magic under such lethal circumstances, either. If only she didn’t care for Camelot and Britain, she might’ve rejoined the Druids already and grown confident in her powers. Damn it all to hell.

The two Vikings with axes, a burly bearded man and a youthful woman with the sides of her head shaved and a ghastly scar on her right cheek, moved to either side of her horse. That they were Vikings was obvious, even if Morgana couldn’t now see – too late – the masts of three longships beyond the hill. “Come on down, nice and easy,” the blonde said. Morgana submitted; the most likely outcomes, she thought grimly, were to be taken as a slave or held for ransom. If she couldn’t escape using magic, then she preferred the latter.

“Unfasten your scabbard and drop it in front of you,” the blonde ordered. Morgana obeyed that, too, not bothering to hide her resentment. “Thorunn’s going to check you for weapons.” The younger Viking woman set her axe in her belt, slung her shield on her back, and approached Morgana from the side. “Face her and lift your arms like a scarecrow.” Morgana did so and let the scarred raider find and take her dagger.

“She’s got some jewelry,” Thorunn announced, stepping back. “That looks like a noble’s saddle on her horse, too.”

“Well, then. Fate smiles on us.” The blonde wasn’t smiling, nor had she relaxed her drawn bow an inch. “Listen carefully, lady. I don’t like unnecessary risks, so you get only one chance to cooperate. If you resist or run, we’ll kill you. If you play along, we’ll see which of your relatives is willing to part with some gold on your behalf. While you’re with us, you eat what we eat, and we don’t touch you. Understand?”

Morgana made her face impassive. “Yes.”

“Good, then everybody lives.” At last, she relaxed her bow. “I’m Lagertha. Who are you?”

“Morgana Pendragon.”

The blonde raider showed no recognition. “Come with us, Morgana. Thorunn, bring her horse and sword.”

Frustration and smarting pride roiled Morgana as the Vikings escorted her down the far side of the hill towards their ships and cooking fires. She’d known what to do, but hadn’t done it – not that it would’ve mattered if she’d crested the hill on foot, since the Vikings had been watching her approach. What would’ve mattered was magic, and if it weren’t for her callous, stone-brained father, she’d know how to defend herself with it. Killing him might be off the table, but by the gods, she at least wanted the satisfaction of twisting a figurative knife in his chest. The more she thought about it, the more Morgana liked the prospect of making Uther pay a royal ransom for her. What a way to admit her existence! He’d look weak, too – he might even lose the confidence of his vassals. Maybe fate had smiled on her, as well.

* * *

As the raiders escorted her down the slope to the shore, Morgana stole another glance at the blonde on her left. Lagertha, she’d said. They were about the same height, but Lagertha looked several years more mature. More than that, she seemed accustomed to being in control. Morgana wondered if she might be a lieutenant, or even the Vikings’ second-in-command. If male warriors willingly followed her into battle, she had to be an exceptional woman. Seeing her beat some humility into Arthur and his knights would be a treat to watch…

Staring at her captor seemed like a bad idea, though, so Morgana forced her eyes to inspect the Vikings on the beach below. Three longships, several cooking fires, and more men than she cared to count. When she got back to Camelot, though, they’d ask how many raiders she’d seen. Could she at least simplify it? She looked at the clump of raiders, mentally divided it into two clumps, divided one clump again, and counted the Vikings in that quarter of the whole. Twelve. Add it three more times… call it fifty. No small raiding party, then. With that responsibility fulfilled, Morgana let her attention wander to Lagertha again. She had fine features, and her long, thick, yellow-gold hair, braided in tight rows on the sides and left loose on top and in back, looked both dangerous and lovely to Morgana. She felt an unexpected thrill at being the captive of a woman so intriguing – and a shiver of fear at the thought that Lagertha’s beauty might conceal the worst savagery attributed to her kind. The next blood to spatter that face might be her own.

Morgana distracted herself with more practical observations. All five raiders carried round wooden shields, painted with the bright colors and characteristic designs of Vikings. The three with bows, including Lagertha, wore shortswords at their sides. Lagertha’s armor was a short-sleeved chainmail shirt over a gray linen tunic, brown trousers, and an ocean blue leather skirt, calf-length, with slits in front and on each side. The others wore similar combinations of leather, mail, and fabric, but with more wear and tear.

Men – and a few more women, Morgana saw – took notice as she and her escorts neared the Vikings’ camp. One raider called out, “Taken a captive already? You’re as good as they say, Lagertha.”

At Morgana’s side, the blonde smirked. “I know.”  She raised her voice and addressed the whole warband. “Northmen! We have a captive for ransom!” A cheer rose in response. “She is the daughter of a noble Briton, and should fetch us a hefty prize!” Another cheer. “I have assured her that she will be safe, and that we will treat her with respect while she waits for her ransom. Remember your oaths.” Murmurs of reply this time. “That’s all. As you were.”

_She’s their leader,_ Morgana realized – and then looked sharply away when the woman caught her staring.

“Supper in an hour or so. Find a comfortable spot to wait,” Lagertha suggested. “You’re free to stretch your legs, but stay within the camp and away from the ships – and remember, no second chances.”

“Thanks,” Morgana muttered.

“Please don’t make me kill you,” the Viking said, and walked away.

* * *

Supper was venison, stewed with a meager assemblage of vegetables and herbs. In all likelihood, Morgana reasoned, the venison had been taken that afternoon and the trimmings were from the last village the Vikings raided. She didn’t care for the idea of eating stolen food, but she’d need her full strength for an escape attempt. She still hadn’t decided whether to try; her pride refused to let her be used, but the idea of making Uther literally pay for his lies…

If she did try to escape, then more than anything else, she needed confidence in her magic. Thus, Morgana spent her time thinking of simple, subtle ways to experiment. She made her stew swirl one way, and then the other; made a shell in the sand disappear and reappear a few inches away; swapped the fletchings of the arrows in one quiver with those in another; made a Viking’s hair tie come undone; made another raider sleepy enough to yawn and rub his eyes…

“Food alright?”

Morgana looked up as Lagertha sat beside her. “Better than what we feed our prisoners,” she admitted.

“You’re a captive, not a prisoner being punished. Civility makes for smoother sailing.”

“You’re so civil that I’m free to grab a weapon and run,” Morgana observed.

The shieldmaiden shrugged. “You know we’d kill you.”

“You’re very liberal with your threats of violence.” The absence of bitterness in her own voice surprised her. She should despise a Viking who’d kidnapped her, yet now Morgana couldn’t summon any feeling harsher than exasperation at being detained. It wasn’t like she particularly wanted to be back in Camelot, after all. Besides, Lagertha’s calm, matter-of-fact attitude felt more like respect than the empty words of caring and reassurance her ‘friends’ offered.

Lagertha shrugged again, this time with a hint of a smirk. “I know how to get what I want.”

There was nothing to say to that. “When will you ask where to send your ransom demand?”

“Your surname answered for you.”

“I didn’t think you recognized it.”

“Of course I did. This isn’t my first raid.” Lagertha yawned and stretched, then lowered her voice. “Thorunn and one other did, too. We have a rule, passed down from experience, not to share the names of captives. If something goes wrong, I don’t want my men to know how big a ransom they missed out on. Some of them might do something rash.”

“When will you send the demand?”

“Tomorrow morning, after we sail closer to Camelot.”

In a surge of doubt, Morgana wondered whether Uther would agree to pay ransom for her at all. He might decide it would encourage raiders to abduct more nobles. On the other hand, members of court were already growing concerned about his callousness; abandoning a princess to slavery could do permanent damage to their loyalty. “Lagertha.”

“Mmm?”

Morgana kept her voice low, as the shieldmaiden had. “My father hasn’t acknowledged me as his daughter. If you demand a princess’s ransom for me, he might claim I’m not worth it. Insist. Make him pay.”

“I mean to empty his coffers,” Lagertha asserted, “but time is on his side. If I have to argue with him by messenger, then we’ll consume rations without taking plunder, and my men will grow restless. I may need to accept less than you’re worth.”

Morgana did not like that. “You said you know how to get what you want.”

“And I intend to, but I’m warning you so you won’t feel betrayed if I have to settle.”

“Appreciated.” And she did appreciate it. Strange that a Northwoman raider could be more considerate than Gaius or Uther, but Morgana wasn’t complaining.

“I’ll get you a spare bedroll. I’d rather you were the first to choose your spot to sleep than the last.”

Morgana’s first thought was to choose her spot to make her escape as straightforward as possible. Her second was that she couldn’t run from the one person who respected her. Ransom it would be, then.

* * *

Morgana awoke to a rough hand over her mouth. She saw a man’s face, dim in the moonlit night, close above hers and leering, and felt another hand on her thigh – and then he was yanked backwards, howling in pain. Morgana sat bolt upright and found her tunic hitched up. In the moonlight, she saw Lagertha dragging the man away by his ear. Staying seated felt too exposed, too vulnerable, so Morgana hurried to her feet. Outside her bedroll, the seaside air was chilling. She shivered aloud.

Lagertha heard and looked back, then shouted at a sleeping Viking. “Thorunn! Thorunn, help-” she had to stop because the man had found his footing. Still having hold of his head, she shoved it down and rammed her knee up into it. Morgana thought she heard his nose break. Lagertha dumped him on the ground and stood with one foot on his back. “Thorunn,” she said, now speaking calmly to the awakened warrior, “keep Morgana warm.” The younger woman took the blanket from Morgana’s abandoned bedroll and draped it over her. When Morgana kept shivering, Thorunn put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into her side. Morgana let her, and her shivers subsided.

“Northmen!” Lagertha shouted at the top of her lungs. _“Northmen!”_ Those not already woken by the commotion came to their feet in a tumbling mass of suddenly alert warriors. “Northmen, I speak!” When the warband was assembled, Lagertha lowered her voice to a level that was merely commanding. “Northmen, before we sailed, each of you swore an oath to me for the duration of our voyage. Is that not so?” Nods and mutters of acknowledgment came in response. “I’m relieved to hear that, because an event has caused me to question my memory.” The shieldmaiden inclined her head only slightly to address the man under her foot. “Einr, tell your brothers and sisters where I found you.”

“With the captive,” the man muttered.

“I don’t think they heard you,” Lagertha said menacingly.

“With the captive!”

“And when I found you, where were your hands?”

The man grumbled a reply, which inspired the Viking leader to dig her heel into his spine. “Under her skirt!” He yelped.

“Did your oath to me include a code?”

“Yes.”

“Then what was rule one?”

“Loyalty above all else.”

“What was rule two?”

“Not to intentionally wound another of your warband.”

“Rule three?”

“Not to wound a child or a commoner who isn’t resisting.”

“And rule four?”

“…Not to molest anyone.”

“Did your oath include what would happen if you broke it?”

The man pinned to the beach gulped twice, then grabbed for the knife on his belt. Lagertha’s expression showed no reaction as she stooped, seized his wrist, and broke his arm. Ignoring his shriek of pain, she rolled him over and knelt on his chest, took his knife, and said, “Pray Odin finds you more worthy than I do.” The knife plunged into his throat and stayed there.

If the dying man made any sound, Morgana didn’t hear over her own pounding pulse.

After a moment, Lagertha wiped her hands on the dead man’s shirt – to get his blood off, Morgana realized – then stood and walked to the Briton. “I’m worth no more than my word,” the warrior said, calmly but still audible to her warband. “I said you’d be safe here, but you weren’t. I can’t now profit from holding you and still claim to be a woman of honor. You may leave with your horse and belongings, Morgana. We won’t follow you.” She glanced away to order, “Northmen, as you were. I’ll dispose of the body.” The raiders dispersed to their bedrolls once more.

Morgana’s thoughts turned to Camelot. That den of liars… she was in no hurry to continue her journey. In truth, she was more interested in how a harsh Viking leader could show her more respect from in one day than her supposed friends had offered her all year. “Why are you a raider?”

Her question surprised both of them. After a few seconds of silence, Lagertha answered, “Because I want to be.”

“But… why?” Morgana pressed. “Why kill and loot and…?”

She felt the shieldmaiden’s eyes search her. “I need to drag Einr’s body away from camp. After that, I’ll be up all night. If you want to talk, I guess we can talk then.”

Morgana nodded – and shivered at the casual way the woman talked of death. Sure, they could talk, right after she dragged the man she executed far enough away that they wouldn’t smell him tomorrow. Yet she also had thought to spare for keeping her captive warm. Morgana needed to understand why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I'm off to a good start! Chapters 2-5 are complete, but I'm still editing them. Chapters beyond 5 are in the works, too.
> 
> If you enjoyed, do leave a comment! I love hearing from all of you :)


	2. Chapter 2

Lagertha returned to Morgana, now seated but still wrapped in the blanket. “If we’re going to talk, let’s have some space.” She offered her hand. Morgana accepted it, keeping hold of the blanket with her other hand, and let the Viking help her up. Lagertha’s strong grip and solid pull surprised Morgana, though she realized that they shouldn’t have. She’d held a longbow at full draw for almost a minute, after all. The hug the Viking gave her once they were some distance from the camp, however, caught Morgana completely unprepared. “I’m sorry,” Lagertha murmured.

“It’s not your fault,” Morgana replied by reflex.

“It’s my responsibility.” The Viking held her for another moment, then sat on the dark beach.

Morgana settled into the sand next to her. “Why are you staying up?”

“Einr had friends, believe it or not. I can’t let my guard down.” Lagertha sighed. “So you wonder why I raid, Briton?”

“Your oath says not to harm each other,” Morgana pointed out, “so why isn’t it also wrong to harm us?”

Lagertha looked at her as if she’d suggested the Earth revolved around the Sun. “Is it wrong that wolves eat deer? Or that hawks eat sparrows? But wolves don’t eat each other.”

Morgana frowned. “So you’re a wolf?”

The blonde warrior chuckled. “I’m a woman. I mean that what I do is in my nature. I want to fight. I want to rule. I don’t want to cause suffering, but I can’t avoid that and still be what I am.”

“So you believe that you aren’t a cruel barbarian because you can’t be anything else?”

Lagertha shook her head. “I can be whatever I want to be, and what I want to be now is a Viking. The reason I’m not cruel is that I’m not cruel. I don’t know how else to explain myself. What is it to you?”

Leaning back on her hands, Morgana sighed. Indeed, what was it to her, a bastard royal witch, sitting on a moonlit beach with a foreign pillager? She should be on her way to Camelot to warn them. Therein lay the answer – she knew her so-called friends were liars and hypocrites. This woman had been honest and honorable, which gave Morgana hope that she also might not be a hypocrite, despite the contradiction the Briton saw in her. “I want to understand how you can give up a royal ransom for honor and also kill peaceable villagers.”

Lagertha furrowed her brow. “Why would you think those are incompatible?”

“How can it be moral for you to raid us but wrong for you to treat your people the same way?”

“Morgana, I’ve treated you the same way I’d treat anyone.”

“But would you raid your neighbors, wherever it is you’re from?”

“No. They’re my neighbors.”

“Why are we different?”

“Wolves know fairness. They know order. They know family. All of that is part of their nature, too. They still hunt.”

“But if you know we value our families the same way you value yours, why don’t you respect ours the same way?”

“We don’t come here to kill, if that’s what you mean. We come here for fame and fortune.”

Morgana shook her head. “Lagertha, I’m not clueless. We hear reports of Viking raids at court. Your people charge right for the inhabitants of wherever you’re raiding.”

The Viking turned up her palms. “Of course we do. Why would we do anything else before subduing them?”

“But charging at villagers can only result in you killing them!”

“Often. Often not.” Lagertha kept calm, never raising her voice. “Morgana, the gods know when death will come for each of us. If a Briton dies to our steel, then there’s no use protesting fate.”

“But you’re sailing here!” Morgana objected. “You’re choosing a life of violence. How would you feel, if raiders attacked your home?”

“How would I feel?” Lagertha gave her that Earth-around-the-Sun look again. “Is that what you think matters in that situation?”

“What do you think matters, then?”

“What I’d _do_ is what matters. I’d either move somewhere safer, or, more likely, rebuild and actually be prepared to kill anyone who attacks my home.”

“And that excuses you doing the same to us?”

Lagertha turned her palms up. “There are wolves in the forest. Do you complain, or do you defend your family?”

“And you’re a wolf.”

“Are you a deer?”

Morgana had no answer to that, partly because she didn’t agree with the premise, and partly because the people she’d depended on had treated her like one.

“You don’t make sense to me,” the shieldmaiden said.

That deserved a snort, and Morgana gave it one. “Because I care about people?”

“Because you have such deep convictions but so little hope.”

The words' profound impact lasted only a moment, before memories of Camelot rushed back into the royal ward’s consciousness. She tasted bitterness and grimaced. “Betrayal will do that to you.”

In an instant, Lagertha became sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Morgana. There’s nothing worse in life. That’s why loyalty is my first rule.”

Morgana nodded to herself, then let out a humorless chuckle. “Should I kill the people who betrayed me, then?”

“If they swore an oath on their lives to you, or if they attacked you, then yes.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised you had an answer ready.” Morgana looked away, out over the sea, then up at the stars. She almost wished it was that simple. “It’s… not like that. They lied to me about who I am and… let me suffer when they could’ve helped.”

“I see. These people were your friends?”

“I thought one of them was. The other is my father.”

“That’s the worst of all. Do they see themselves as your enemies now?”

“No.”

“Then don’t make them your enemies. Tell them in detail how they wronged you, leave no doubt in their minds how they stand with you, and allow at least a sliver of a chance to earn your trust again.”

Morgana snarled. “I will _never_ trust them again, ever.”

“Not completely, no. You’ve seen their judgement fail, and you need to remember that, but it might be in your interest to offer them limited, partial trust one day. Leave that possibility open now, because it’ll be hard to reopen it later.”

“Maybe.” Morgana sounded almost as bitter as she felt.

“This is important, Morgana. If you slam the door on your former friends and bolt it shut, they’ll find it difficult to remain neutral towards you.”

“I don’t give a damn whether they’re neutral towards me.”

“You need to,” Lagertha insisted. “If you’re not going to war, don’t burn bridges.” When Morgana sighed, the shieldmaiden added, “There are only two acceptable states for the people in your life: not your enemy, and dead. Making them hostile is the same as killing them.”

That, at least, was an idea Morgana could accept. If she ruled out killing her betrayers now, then it would also be wrong to create a need to kill them later. “Fine, I won’t make them think I hate them. What about after that?

“You live your life how you want,” Lagertha said, and smiled at the Briton for the first time.

“How do I know what I want?”

Lagertha paused. “Maybe try everything you think of, and then stop doing the things you don’t like.”

“Nice and unsophisticated,” Morgana observed.

The shieldmaiden smirked. “The best things in life are.”

“Like raiding and fighting?”

“And sunrises, the sea breeze in your hair…” The smirk became a grin. “And drinking, signing and fucking.” When her last word made Morgana redden, Lagertha laughed. “You Britons! It’s like you’re scared of it.” Her face turned thoughtful. “Maybe your men are scared they’ll lose their women, if the women feel free to follow their desires.”

Morgana had no idea what to say to that, so she said something else. “Are you what you want to be?”

“What I want to be now. I don’t want to be a raider forever.”

“No?”

“I want to be a lord, maybe a queen. Live in a big hall, lead an army…” Lagertha smiled at the thought.

Morgana smiled, too. “Your domain would be just, fair, and constantly at war.”

“You forgot wealthy, prosperous, and safe – and I wouldn’t need to start wars to enjoy fighting. When people want what you have, war comes to you.”

“Like you, coming here.”

“Complaining won’t stop the wolves.”

Morgana sighed. The Viking wasn’t wrong about that, but everything else about raiding… well, that argument seemed intractable. She changed the subject. “How did you get all these fighters to swear their lives to you?”

“Reputation.” Lagertha said. “Enough people have heard that I’m a good leader that it didn’t take long to fill my ships. I had more than enough fighters to choose from.”

That deserved a frown. “I’m not impressed that you chose that man.”

Lagertha shook her head. “Among my Northmen, I would trust a handful even without an oath, and I trust most to keep their oaths. This is by far the largest raid I’ve led, though, and I couldn’t fill it except by recruiting warriors without solid reputations.”

“That’s a weak excuse for so strong a woman,” Morgana replied, feeling disappointment.

“It wasn’t an excuse. I brought Einr because he had a bad reputation. From the outset, I intended to execute him as an example to the others.”

The shieldmaiden’s plainspoken brutality made Morgana shiver. “That’s murder.”

All that got was another shake of the blonde’s braided head. “He betrayed me.”

“And you think that’s worse?”

“The two are one and the same. Would your anger burn any hotter if those who betrayed you had tried to kill you?”

Morgana imagined it – and the ease of imagining stunned her. Gaius could’ve slipped any number of poisons into her nightmare tonic... “No,” she admitted. “I’d feel more shocked, but not any angrier.”

Lagertha nodded. “There’s nothing worse in life,” she said again. For a time, her eyes studied Morgana’s face in silence. Self-consciousness soon drove Morgana to evade Lagertha’s gaze, even though – or perhaps because – it was the softest look she’d seen shape the blonde’s features. “Morgana, you said that the people who betrayed you lied about who you are. Before you found out, were you who you thought you wanted to be?”

Of course she hadn’t been – how many times had she even been asked if she was? “No,” Morgana admitted. “Nothing and no one suggested to me that what I want matters.”

“And you think my people are immoral.”

Morgana let out a sigh. Looking out across the sea, she saw the first hint of light on the horizon. “I still don’t know what I want to do, but… thank you.”

“Thanks for keeping me company. You should sleep, Morgana.”

The Viking walked with her back to camp. After brushing the sand off her legs and getting comfortable in her bedroll, Morgana’s last conscious thought was to imagine her own hair braided like Lagertha’s.

* * *

Morgana awoke to morning sunlight in her eyes and sounds of movement. Around her, the Vikings were finishing breakfast and packing up their camp. She sat up, stretched, and winced at a knot in her shoulder. Even with a bedroll, the hard-packed sand hadn’t been kind to her. She worked her shoulder as she looked around for Lagertha. The Viking leader, she saw, was helping load the stewpots aboard the longships. Her blonde hair, re-braided in a new style that included the top, swung as she worked. The contrast with King Uther struck Morgana. Lagertha had no claim to authority except what she earned. One day, perhaps, she’d be a lord and expect others to do such labor for her, but Morgana imagined Lagertha would still work as hard as her subjects when on a campaign.

That’s what it was about Lagertha, Morgana decided; her sense of honor came from what she did, not from her station in society. Granted, much of what the Viking did was take others’ belongings by force…  but she was consistent with herself. She didn’t espouse one morality and live by another, like Uther and Gaius had. That her concept of right and wrong differed from Morgana’s was a problem of Lagertha’s culture, not a character flaw. Morgana couldn’t ignore it or excuse it, but she could forgive it.

When the last stewpot was loaded, Lagertha turned and met Morgana’s eyes. Her smile was subtle, but Morgana didn’t miss it. The Viking leader walked to Morgana, picking up a bowl of food on the way. “We saved you breakfast,” she said, handing her former captive the bowl and sitting down. “How are you?”

Morgana shrugged and smiled. “Not as tired as I expected to be. You?”

Lagertha smiled back. “Disappointed to miss out on your ransom, but glad I did the right thing. Also, sleep-deprived.”

“Be glad things went the way they did,” Morgana said, smirking. “I'm an expert swordswoman.”

The shieldmaiden chuckled. “I missed out on a good fight, too? Now I’m twice disappointed.”

“You would say that,” Morgana quipped, throwing in a good-natured eye-roll.

“Well,” Lagertha’s smile faded, “since you’re a free woman, what will you do now?”

That question. Morgana sighed; she was on her own against Uther again. “I only know one thing for sure: I won’t live in Camelot unless they acknowledge and accept me for who I really am.”

“Wise,” Lagertha agreed. “Are they likely to do that?”

“It’ll be difficult for them to accept that I’m a sorceress. I think the king will acknowledge in private that he sired me but forbid me to say anything in public, which I won’t accept. I need leverage to make him acknowledge me publicly.”

“Do you have any?”

She had for a few hours. Morgana bit her lip; maybe she still did. “Lagertha, what if I asked you to take a risk for me?”

“I’d expect something of greater value in return.”

Morgana did a double-take. “Greater?”

Lagertha nodded. “Since you’re asking, you’re the one in need.”

Though spoken with the same frankness that drew her to the Viking, Lagertha’s words deflated Morgana. In retrospect, it was a mistake to imagine the raider as a potential friend. “Well, then,” she began bitterly, “I-”

“I’m sorry. I take it back.” Lagertha reached and rested her hand on the Briton’s upper arm. “I didn’t realize you saw me as anything but an enemy during a truce.”

“You didn’t?” That was just as great a letdown – and confusing, too. “I thought we were talking like friends.”

“I…” Lagertha glanced away for a second and let go of Morgana’s arm. “I thought you were just trying to be agreeable. After our conversation last night, I thought you found my way of life repulsive.”

Morgana pursed her lips in a vain effort to keep from smiling. “Somehow I like you anyway.”

Lagertha smiled back. “And I’m surprised how much I like the company of a sheltered Briton maiden. If you want something from me, Morgana, then we’ll speak as friends.”

“In that case, if I asked you to send a ransom demand for me, not to actually collect but only to make my father acknowledge me, what would you ask in return?”

The shieldmaiden’s eyes searched her. “An oath,” she said at last.

“I’m not swearing my life to you,” Morgana objected.

“Not your life. Your friendship.”

“Lagertha, you’ll have my gratitude as long as I live. What more is there?”

“There’s nothing more, and that’s my concern. I don’t stand to gain anything else, so I need to be certain I’ll keep your gratitude.”

“I’m not going to forget the woman who helped me take back my identity,” Morgana protested.

“Probably not, but if I keep raiding your people, are you likely to do a favor for me in the future?”

Morgana frowned. “Of course not.”

“Then to keep your friendship, I need to change my plans and raid somewhere else,” Lagertha explained. “Either I sail back to Scotland, which we struck twice on our way here with little to show for it, or I continue on to Ireland, or I go back to the continent, probably Frankia. All of those targets are either higher risk or lower reward than your homeland, and days spent sailing are days not spent raiding.”

 _Then don’t raid,_ Morgana thought.

“If you’re thinking, ‘just stop raiding’,” Lagertha continued, “that’s not an option. I want power, and that means I need fame, wealth, and loyal fighters. Raiding is the only way for a farmer’s daughter to gain all three at once. I need this voyage to make me and my oath-men rich and make everyone back home talk about what a great leader I am. If I sail home without a good story, it’ll set back my ambitions.” The shieldmaiden huffed. “All that assumes I’m not simply killed when I walk into Camelot and tell the king I’ve abducted his daughter. For a real ransom, I’d send messengers, but I won’t order my men to do a favor like this for me. What’s more, what you’re asking has political consequences that I can’t predict.”

“Why do our politics matter to you?”

“Because if you publicly shame the king,” Lagertha explained, “you might weaken his authority. Britain might become an even more appealing target, but I’ll have given you my word that I won’t raid here. That’ll put me at a disadvantage compared to other Vikings vying for power back home. Doing this for you could cost me dearly, Morgana.”

Morgana furrowed her brow. “Then why aren’t you saying ‘no’?”

Lagertha looked down at her lap for a long moment before making eye contact again. “Because I’ve also been betrayed by friends and family, and because I think your gratitude might be worth the cost.”

“And you’ll have it,” Morgana promised, “always.”

“I believe you mean that, but I’ve known you for less than a day. You may think me cold, but that isn’t enough for me to trust you to remember the depth of your gratitude and my sacrifice a decade or two from now. I will only do this if you swear to do something as dangerous for you and disruptive to your plans if I ask.”

Morgana had immediate concerns about that. “I won’t help you raid, no matter how grateful I am.”

“I won’t ask you for a favor you’d consider immoral,” Lagertha assured her, “but don’t confuse ‘moral’ with ‘comfortable’. It might cost you like this costs me.”

“I…” Morgana felt deflated again. Lagertha had said they’d discuss this as friends, but it didn’t seem that way now. She wondered… but with the shieldmaiden’s frankness, she didn’t have to wonder. She could ask. “How does this fit with us as friends? It sounds like a trade.”

“I didn’t mean for it to. Let me try again.” Lagertha relaxed her posture. “If you’re a woman of your word – and I suspect you are, now that you’ve felt betrayal yourself – then giving me your oath and fulfilling it are one and the same. If you give me your oath and I carry out your plan, we’ll both have made sacrifices to help each other. That’ll establish the nature of our friendship. What we do today – I by action, you by oath – we will always do for each other.”

That sounded better, but also raised new concerns. “So I’d be committing to even more than one costly favor for you?”

“We’d both be committing to living by the gratitude you feel for me. Morgana, we’re forging a lifelong friendship in one day. I just want to be certain that you’ll be as great a friend to me as I’ll be to you, even if we don’t see each other for years.”

The situation called for a deep breath in and out again. “Honestly, Lagertha, I don’t even understand what you think I can do for you.”

“Maybe one day I’ll need an ally in Camelot. Maybe I’ll become a lord back home, and I’ll need help defending against an invasion.” Lagertha wet her lips. “Maybe one day I’ll have need of a sorceress.”

The word hung between them like an omen. Morgana fought the urge to deny it, and won. “How did you know?”

Lagertha’s lips quirked. “You swapped the fletchings on my arrows with someone else’s.”

“Those were yours? But… how did you notice that?!” Morgana demanded. “They were all goose feathers!”

“Keep your voice down,” the shieldmaiden warned, even as her eyes twinkled with amusement. “All my arrows had left wing feathers. Now they all have right wing feathers. After that, I kept an eye on you, and I saw your eyes glow.”

Morgana felt herself gasp. “They glow?”

Lagertha nodded. “Yes, your irises change to a glowing orange when you use magic.”

“I had no idea.” Her mind tried to grasp what the news meant for her. “Is the glow bright enough to notice in the dark?”

“Maybe. If it were me, I’d assume it is.”

“I’m glad you told me. You may have saved my life.”

Lagertha smiled. “Like I said, we’ll help each other.”

Morgana smiled, too. “Thank you. Do you want me to put your arrows back the way they were?”

“No. I’ll keep them to remember you by. Was your sorcery yesterday some kind of practice for you?”

“Yes. I haven’t explored my powers yet. The king made it a capital offense to use magic.”

“So I’ve heard. I suppose you’re keeping it from him, then?”

“Yes. He probably would’ve had me killed if he knew.”

Lagertha grimaced in sympathy. “Is this what you meant, when you said your friends let you suffer?”

Morgana nodded. “My magic… manifested, I guess, by surprise not long ago. The one person who I knew would know if I was a sorceress tried to assure me that I wasn’t, that it was all…” She had to stop because the upwelling of pain and anger made her jaw clench. “He could’ve helped me, but all he did was try to hide the truth from me.”

“I begin to see why you had so little hope yesterday,” Lagertha said softly.

With a deep breath in through her nose and out again, Morgana regained control of her voice. “I have more now,” she murmured, looking at the sea but seeing the Viking’s blue eyes.

To her surprise, she heard a warm chuckle from the blonde. “I wouldn’t have expected to inspire hope in a Briton,” Lagertha said. Her voice carried the same pleased amusement that Morgana had seen in her eyes a minute before. She gave Morgana’s shoulder a firm squeeze, then stood. “We’re sailing for Camelot soon, either to carry out your plan or to send you home. You need to decide by the time we arrive.”

“Alright – and Lagertha,” Morgana added, looking up into her eyes. “I don’t think you’re cold.”

The shieldmaiden simply smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Edited 2018-09-04 to have Lagertha mention Morgana's glowing eyes)
> 
> I hope you're enjoying these two together :) If so, make my day and leave a comment!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: As part of an effort to disguise Morgana as a battle-scarred Dark Ages warrior, the end of this chapter contains slight cutting (i.e. breaking the skin with a knife). There are a few mentions of blood as a result. Do I need to tell you not to try this at home?

Morgana had never made up her mind whether fate was real or just human imaginings, but that morning tilted her thoughts towards a universe where things happen for a reason. It wasn’t something Lagertha said or did that altered Morgana’s thinking, though. It was the weather. After they’d set sail in the longships, whoever or whatever controlled the ever-overcast skies of Britain chose to clear them. Morgana couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a sky without a cloud in sight, but now the sun’s light was free to have its way with Lagertha. The shieldmaiden stood on the wooden bulwark of the longship, balancing herself with one hand on the rigging. From Morgana’s place on a bench opposite her, the sunlight made her fair skin and fluttering golden hair glow. Her face… Lagertha hadn’t stopped smiling since the wind filled her ships’ sails. Sometimes the smile was wider, sometimes subtler, but always there – at least, whenever Morgana was looking, which was often. The Briton remembered Lagertha including the sea breeze in her hair among life’s highest pleasures, alongside singing, sex, and fighting.

The last of those put Morgana in a different mindset. This woman, this ship, and this crew had come to pillage her home. From that perspective, the oath Lagertha wanted seemed like blackmail; _‘if you want me to stop raiding your people, then swear to come running when I call’_. But from the Viking’s perspective, she could call only if she promised to stop raiding. That mode of thinking led nowhere, Morgana realized. Maybe focusing on ‘who’ would be more helpful than ‘what’.

She let out a quiet sigh. Lagertha’s character made the strongest argument both for and against swearing the oath to her. On the one hand, the Viking’s honor made her worthy of Morgana’s word. On the other hand, she’d expect to collect the full value of her promise. The young sorceress imagined living the rest of her life with the possibility of a difficult, painful, even brutal request intruding at any moment… but that was a poor way to view a favor to a friend. She was asking a lot of Lagertha, so Lagertha wanted it understood that she might ask a lot of her one day. The oath wasn’t about debt but about depth, a promise that their relationship would be one of equals. With all the unequal relationships in her life, Morgana related to that. And was it unreasonable for Lagertha to worry that Morgana might balk, if she came calling for a costly favor at an inconvenient time? Of course not. The Viking wanted her to speak the truth aloud and commit to it. Nothing could be more reasonable than that. With the relaxed exhale of one who’s found peace, Morgana stood and looked up at the shieldmaiden. “Lagertha.”

“Yes?” The Viking stepped down from the side of the ship and faced her.

“I’ll give you my word that, if you make my father acknowledge me as his daughter, I’ll be as good a friend to you when you want my help.”

Lagertha gave her a sincere but brief smile. “Friendship can’t be contingent on success. It needs to be that I did my best and you’ll do yours.”

“Alright.”

“Then we’re agreed, and I’ll make my promises in an oath of my own to you. Now, how will you explain your return to Camelot after I make the demand? Will you say you escaped?”

Morgana considered it. After everything people had kept from her, she didn’t want to return with a secret of her own. “What if I went as one of your fighters? I’d reveal myself after Uther admits I’m his daughter.”

The Viking looked her over. “Do you think you could pass for a Northwoman in front of people who know you?”

Morgana had an idea about that.

* * *

A change in the longship’s pitching and rolling woke Morgana from her nap. They were heading for the shore, she saw. Opposite her, Lagertha stirred as well; the smile on her face suggested she appreciated her rest even more than Morgana had. “Do you recognize the landscape?” She asked the Briton. Morgana did; they were near the rocky curve in the coastline which marked its closest approach to Camelot. “Good,” Lagertha said. “Take us ashore!” she called to the ship’s pilot.

The ships rowed for the nearest sandy spot. When they could get no closer, Lagertha slung a satchel and a shield over her shoulders, hefted another shield, then hopped overboard and landed with practiced ease in the shallow water. She turned and extended a hand for Morgana, who smiled and shook her head. “Not for a jump this small. I’m too proud.” Her landing wasn’t so graceful, but she didn’t fall over, and that was all that mattered. Lagertha called for her lieutenants to join them, and they waded onto the beach. “I’m traveling to Camelot with Morgana,” she told them. “Wait for me here. Forage if you must, but don’t raid, don’t draw attention, and avoid all contact. Be prepared to leave in a hurry. If I’m not back by sunset tomorrow, do as you see fit.”

As the Northmen returned to their ships, Morgana asked Lagertha, “Just the two of us?”

“Four would be better,” the shieldmaiden admitted, “but anyone who comes with us will know that a royal Briton sorceress swore an oath to me, and I need the Northmen I trust most to guard the ships.”

“Good point.” The world didn’t need to know that a Pendragon had sworn her loyalty to a Viking.

“Let’s head for those woods,” Lagertha said, pointing at a forest inland. “Once we’re out of sight, we’ll do your disguise and our oaths.”

* * *

In the seclusion of the forest, Lagertha set down the extra shield and unslung her pack. “Let’s see about this disguise.”

Morgana nodded. “First and foremost…” she imagined herself with dark brown eyes, then tried to will that image into reality. The widening of Lagertha’s eyes told Morgana she’d succeeded. “Now for that outfit.”

Lagertha handed her the satchel, then turned her back and leaned against a tree, arms folded. Morgana unpacked the Viking warrior garb from inside it and stripped out of her own traveling attire. This outfit was simpler than Lagertha’s: an olive tunic over brown trousers, both cloth, a cuirass of rigid, boiled leather to protect her torso, and leather boots. The clothes went on without difficulty, but when she tried to don the cuirass, its straps caught somewhere behind her. The result was that she couldn’t get it settled, nor could she take it off to start over, and the leather dug into her neck. “Um…” Morgana groaned. “I need help.”

Lagertha turned and frowned at the ungainly sight before her. “Haven’t you worn armor before?”

“Mail. Not rigid.” With the leather biting neck, speech was unpleasant. “Do you mind?”

The shieldmaiden’s eyebrows rose as she came to help. “You mean full chainmail?”

“I’m the king’s daughter,” Morgana said drily, while Lagertha freed the snagged straps and settled the hard leather armor in place. “Chain shirt with overlapping plates below my bust.”

“Just as well you weren’t wearing that yesterday,” Lagertha said teasingly. “I’d have hated to give it back.” She cinched the last strap. “There. Comfortable?” Morgana tested her freedom of movement and found that she was. “Can you disguise your sword and belt?”

“Probably.” Morgana didn’t trust herself to alter her sword’s expertly-forged steel, but found that she could change just the surface colors of the hilt and pommel. Her scabbard and belt received the same treatment.

“Good. Now, the shield. It hangs on your back like this.” Lagertha helped Morgana settle the extra wooden shield in a comfortable position. “Try taking it off and putting it on a few times, in case we need to at Camelot.” Morgana did, albeit awkwardly at first. “Have you never trained with a shield, Morgana?”

“No. Our trainers assumed a woman could never be strong enough to use one properly, so-” she stopped when Lagertha snorted with scorn. “I know, but they made up for it by drilling me into a master fencer with the hand-and-a-half sword.”

The shieldmaiden smirked and gave a little shake of her head. “I can’t help thinking that ‘fencing’ is a pretentious way to describe the skill of killing a man with sharpened steel.”

Morgana smirked back. “Then maybe we need to spar, when this is over.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you. Do you need me to do your hair?”

“No, I want to try something. Turn sideways for a second so I can see yours.”

Lagertha’s lips quirked as she did. “Are you about to braid by sorcery?”

“I’m about to try.” After mussing her hair into a state which would’ve appalled poor Gwen, Morgana focused her mind and tried to will her hair to move and weave itself. As practice in fine telekinetic control, it was perfect, but it was also slow going. Lagertha intervened. “Let me do it. The next time I see you, you can show off all you want.”

Morgana assented and let the shieldmaiden make short work of gathering and braiding her brunette locks into tight rows on the sides and single thick plait on top. “There,” Lagertha said. “Now you look like a Northwoman.” She pursed her lips. “A Northwoman who’s implausibly clean for a week away from home with limited fresh water.”

“I can fix that.” Morgana summoned soil from the forest floor and dew from the leaves, then added a few well-placed mud streaks to her face. “Now do I look like a Viking?”

Lagertha shook her head. “I’m not taking it personally, but that’s far too much. It needs to be subtle. Let me…” She stepped close, sucked a fingertip between her lips, and then set about removing and rearranging the dirt on the Briton princess’s features.

Morgana stood rooted to the spot. Not even Gwen touched her face with her bare hands. No one had since her parents had passed. She wasn’t sure whether to watch Lagertha’s eyes or look away, but her gaze kept coming back to the shieldmaiden on its own.

“Better,” Lagertha declared. “Can you give yourself some scars?”

“I don’t know. Maybe…” Morgana tried to manipulate her skin by magic, but Lagertha frowned and shook her head. “No, it’s not right. You need to practice with a mirror. May I give you a few cuts? Just enough to draw blood.”

“Um…” Morgana hesitated – but she was already trusting the Viking in every other way. “If you think it’s important. I need to learn to heal myself anyway.”

“Okay.” Lagertha drew her knife and held it like a quill. “Hold still,” she warned Morgana, rested her other hand on the sorceress’s neck, and scratched a line across the left side of her nose and another below her eye.

When she lifted the knife away, Morgana saw blood on the point. “I can’t believe I just let a Viking cut me,” the Briton admitted. “I’m going to try healing it. If it works, just do it again.” The speed with which Morgana’s skin closed astonished her; it was as if her body wanted to heal.

“Gods…” Lagertha, for once, was speechless.

“I can hardly believe it, either,” Morgana said. Her eyes felt as wide as Lagertha’s looked. “Go ahead and redo it.”

Lagertha repeated the same cuts, then asked, “Will you let me give you one on your other cheek?”

“Don’t make it symmetrical,” Morgana warned.

Lagertha rolled her eyes. “I know what battle scars look like, Princess.” She waited while Morgana got control of her grin, then made a cut from Morgana’s right temple to her cheekbone. “One more, across your jaw?” Morgana nodded, and Lagertha used the knife to draw a red line from her lower left cheek to the bottom of her jawline. “Done.” She wet her fingertip again and wiped the blood away from each cut. “Now you look worthy of Valhalla.”

Morgana grinned. “Shame I don’t have a mirror.”

“It really is.”

Only when Lagertha stepped back and took her hand from Morgana’s neck did the Briton appreciate just how close the shieldmaiden had been. The space between them now, though normal for conversation, felt like a gulf. “So,” she made herself say, “how do your people swear oaths? Is there more blood?”

Lagertha scoffed. “Of course not. I’ll swear mine first so you can see how it’s done. I’ll make the formalities simpler and more familiar, though, if that’s all right with you.”

“Simplicity suits, us, I think.”

“I agree. Unfasten your sword and take one knee.” Morgana did so, and Lagertha knelt before her. “Lay the sword on your leg with the grip over your knee. Hold it by the hilt and rest your arm on the length of the blade.” She placed her right hand over Morgana’s on the hilt of the sword.

“Wait.” The sorceress dispelled the disguise from her sword. “It should be like this,” she explained.

Lagertha smiled. “I swear, Morgana, that, as long as you live, I will not raid your kingdom, nor permit any who owe allegiance to me to raid it, nor give aid to anyone who I know is planning to do violence here. I also swear that I will not ask you to take any action you consider immoral in fulfilment of your oath to me.” Morgana felt Lagertha give her hand a slight squeeze. “That’s an oath sworn, Morgana.”

Morgana only nodded, still awed by the simple, mundane sincerity of the moment.

“Do you want to state your oath like I did, or do you want me to say it and you confirm it?”

“Since we’re making our oaths according to your custom, I want you to choose the words.” Morgana refastened her sword to her belt, shifted to kneel on both legs, and lost her breath. The shieldmaiden was now on one knee, and looking up at her was like gazing at an ice-eyed queen crowned with golden braids.

“Put your hand over mine,” Lagertha said in gentle reminder.

A sense of solemnity swept over Morgana as she settled her fingers over Lagertha’s hand and the hilt of her sword. It struck her that never in her life had she made a commitment as serious as the one before her.

She couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather commit herself to.

“Do you swear,” Lagertha said in a slow, even voice, “that when I ask it of you, you’ll to come to my aid as I now aid you?”

Morgana forced herself to parse the words and be sure they were what she intended to agree to, then gave the Viking a small nod. “I swear it, Lagertha.” She gave her hand the same slight squeeze.

Lagertha smiled. “Stand, my friend.”

As they rose, something occurred to Morgana. “Does this mean I won’t hear from you again until you need a favor?”

Lagertha shook her head. “No, and you’re welcome to call on me, too. The oath is to help us remain friends and allies across time and distance, Morgana, not to limit us.”

“I’m glad.”

“You still might not hear from me. Our paths might not cross again for a long time.”

The sorceress’s reply came effortlessly; “Then I’ll look forward to the day they do.” As the shieldmaiden embraced her, Morgana thought she saw something new and warmer in her eyes.

“To Camelot?”

Morgana let herself enjoy the hug for a second longer, and then another, before answering. “To Camelot.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I said I was going to update about once per week, but I got surprised with a lot of travel for work. The next chapter is finished, but I'm having second thoughts, so it may get a rewrite before I update again.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! As always, I love reading your comments :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My immense thanks to [@just-morgana](https://just-morgana.tumblr.com/) and [potstickermaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/potstickermaster) for beta-reading :)

“Have you thought far beyond how it will feel?”

For some time, they had walked the weathered Roman road in silence, each attending to the universe inside themselves. Now, Lagertha’s question pulled Morgana out of her contemplation of the British countryside. In truth, she hadn’t thought beyond the different ways Uther might react to her forcing his hand. “Not far,” she confessed. “Just whether I’ll be able to stay or have to leave.”

Lagertha nodded. “Ask yourself what you want to do next week and next year. If you remain in Camelot, you’ll need the cooperation of others there to accomplish your goals. Who are they, and how will what you do today impact your relationships with them?”

Morgana weighed the questions. Damn, but the Viking had been right about not making unnecessary enemies. If Arthur, Gaius, and Merlin all opposed her, she’d have no influence in a post-Uther Camelot. Gaius, in particular, held a critical role; he had Merlin’s ear, and Merlin had more influence on Arthur than anyone else. If she couldn’t form a working relationship with Gaius, she’d need to discredit him in Merlin’s eyes. That wouldn’t be easy, especially without making herself look bad. Who else did she need to consider? Who else mattered…

Gwen! Gods, she’d forgotten Gwen. Morgana mentally kicked herself; in the midst of feeling betrayed, she’d forgotten she still had a friend. Unbidden, the thought of life in Camelot without Gwen at her side filled Morgana’s mind. She couldn’t… if she somehow lost Gwen’s faith – that was the only way her situation could get worse. She needed Gwen. More than that, she needed Gwen to understand her choices. “Lagertha, I’ll need you to talk to someone before we leave Camelot. My servant, Gwen, needs to see why I trust you.”

Lagertha smiled. “Ah, of course. The confidant without whom nothing gets done?”

“She’s the last person I can call my friend, so she and I need to be on the same page about you.”

“What would help her accept me as your friend?”

Morgana pursed her lips, then shrugged. “Just honesty, probably. Be yourself.”

“Good,” Lagertha chuckled, “I’m a horrible actor. Who else do you need to influence?”

“The man who lied to me about my magic lets the prince’s servant sleep in his spare room. Merlin has Arthur’s ear, so I’ll need him to be more sympathetic to me than to his mentor.” Morgana sighed. “That probably means I have to be at least decent to the old buzzard.”

“Can you be clear with them without being harsh?”

“I don’t know,” Morgana admitted.

“What would it take for the servant to believe his mentor was wrong to lie to you?”

Morgana reflected on the moments when Merlin had seemed most approving of her. “He’ll lean towards whichever of us is the most just and compassionate.”

The shieldmaiden smiled. “That’s encouraging.”

“It is,” Morgana realized. “Proving that I am those things will show him that Gaius isn’t. I just need to avoid burning Gaius completely – figuratively,” she clarified, prompting Lagertha to laugh. “This is good, Lagertha. If I have Merlin and Arthur, then I have Camelot’s future, even if I have to live out Uther’s reign in exile.”

“I hope you don’t have to,” the shieldmaiden said, “but if it comes to that, you’re welcome in my home, however small or large it may be.”

“Thank you.” The offer took Morgana by surprise, but it fit with Lagertha’s assurances of loyal friendship. “Where would I look for you?”

“Kattegat, in Norway. If I’m away, ask for my ex-husband, Ragnar Lothbrok. He, and those loyal to him, will treat you with honor. Tell him – but no one else – that you’ve exchanged oaths with Lagertha, whom Thor watches over.”

Morgana smiled wide. “I like the sound of that.”

The shieldmaiden’s answering smile did nothing to soften the fierce light in her eyes. “Even as a girl, I loved thunder.”

The sorceress let that be the last word for some time, until she had an idea. She willed several pebbles from the roadside to fly to her hand. “I want to try something. Would you toss these in front of me?”

Lagertha accepted the handful of stones. “All at once?”

“Just one at a time.”

The shieldmaiden took one pebble and tossed it upwards. Morgana extended her hand towards it and tried to change its path. The pebble… maybe turned a little? “Let me try again.” Lagertha tossed another pebble. This time, Morgana got it to curve as it fell.

“I’m glad you hadn’t practiced this before I ambushed you,” the Viking mused.

“It worked out,” Morgana replied with a smile, “but never again. Give me another.”

Lagertha tossed this one faster, but Morgana deflected it aside at almost a right angle. “You learn quickly,” Lagertha said, sounding impressed.

“I suppose so. I don’t know how fast anyone else learns. I wonder if I can do it without my hands…” She clasped them behind her back while her friend lofted another target. Morgana changed its direction, but not as dramatically as before.

“Now that,” the shieldmaiden breathed, “would be useful.”

“Try two at once,” Morgana suggested. Again, she met with modest success, but she liked her progress.

“Let me get more.” Lagertha bent, found a stone, and hurled it at Morgana’s face. The sorceress didn’t have time to think of a direction to send the stone. All she thought was _Stop!_

The stone stopped a foot in front of her face and hung in the air.

Morgana stared at it. In that moment, she realized that she could do anything she wanted with the stone. She could throw it back at Lagertha. She could split it in two. She could etch her name in it. She could… “Do stones melt?”

“I think so. I’ve heard tales of red-hot liquid spilling out of great fissures in the Earth and cooling into new rock.”

The sorceress willed the stone to grow hot, and then hotter, and hotter, and hotter, and hotter… without seeing any change. “How hot can something get?”

Lagertha reached for the stone, but stopped an inch short. “You’ve got a long way to go before it’s even forge-hot.”

“If I think about a forge, though, I might just make it glow without getting hotter.”

“What if you try imagining the hottest heat you can, and then imagine that much again?”

Morgana tried, and began to feel heat on her face. How about twice as hot again? The stone started to glow red like a coal. Hotter? Red glow became orange, and she had to move the stone further away. “I’ve lost all reference for how hot this is,” she admitted.

“Red-hot,” Lagertha pointed out.

“But is it the same red-hot as iron?”

“You could test and find out.”

“True.” Morgana made the stone hotter, and hotter still, but there seemed to be no more change. Just as she was growing frustrated, though, the stone seemed to soften, and then turned completely to a thick, glowing red liquid. It kept the shape of the solid stone, but Morgana could see the lava slowly circulate. Maybe… could she shape it? She thought of a box – _yes!_ The liquid rock took the new shape. Morgana tried a ball, a ring, and a leaf, and the lava obeyed each time.

“By all the gods,” Lagertha said, “I’m glad we’re not enemies.”

“Me, too. We met me at exactly the right time to avoid that.”

“Do you have finer control?” Lagertha wondered aloud.

The curve of the shield on the Viking’s back caught Morgana’s eye. At her thought, the stone took the shape of the shield, complete with the hand strap on the back and relief lines in the pattern of the painted front. Satisfied, she cooled the rock until it was safe to handle, then sent it to Lagertha’s fingertips.

The shieldmaiden took it from the air and turned it in her hand, gazing at it, then stepped closer to the princess. “Do you realize that you can be anything you want to be?”

“Yes?” Morgana had the feeling that she hadn’t really grasped the question.

“Morgana, think about it; you just made a sculpture. You can be an artist of any kind. You can write thousands of pages without picking up a quill. You can be a blacksmith, or a clothier, a shipwright, or a warrior. The gods gave you the power to make your imagination into reality.”

Somehow, the first complete thought to form in Morgana’s swirling mind was a depressing one. “I wouldn’t really need Gwen.”

“Your servant?”

“How can I ask her to continue serving me when I don’t need her?”

“I can think of a few ways,” Lagertha countered. “One is because you want her to. You must get more than just tangible acts of service from her, since you want her to understand you. Another way is to ask what she wants. A third is to think of new work for her that isn’t so easily done by magic. If you’re acknowledged as a member of the royal family, will you have duties that need to be administered? Records that you need to keep?”

“Maybe. If I have a role in the changes I want to see in Britain, then probably.”

Lagertha nodded. “If you want to keep her close, and she wants the same, then you’ll find a way.” She went quiet for a moment and pursed her lips. “Where do you fall in the line of succession?” Morgana stopped, stunned. Lagertha stopped, too. “You hadn’t thought of that?”

Morgana finally understood what it meant to be blinded by anger. In the day since she’d overheard the king admit he was her father, she hadn’t realized she had a claim to the throne. “I’m eleven months older than Arthur,” she said distantly, with eyes wide as the possibilities flooded through her mind.

“Do you still want to reveal yourself with magic?”

Of the decisions facing Morgana, that was the easiest. “Whatever I do, I’m doing it as myself.”

* * *

A few miles short of Camelot, a patrol of mounted men-at-arms spotted the pair and intercepted them. “What errand have you in Britain, Northmen? Speak quickly, or we will cut you down.”

As agreed, Lagertha spoke for them both. “We seek an audience in the king’s court.”

The man – Morgana recognized him but knew not his name – seemed surprised to hear a female voice. Apparently their weapons and armor blinded him to their faces and the swells of their chests. Regardless, he responded with disdain. “And on what grounds could you hope to be granted that?”

“That’s between me and the authorities of the court,” Lagertha replied calmly.

“Perhaps the court would be better served if I slew you where you stand, Northman.”

Lagertha shrugged. “Perhaps you shouldn’t make the king’s decisions for him. Escort us to Camelot, if your duty demands it.”

The man glared, then twisted in his saddle and signaled to two of his patrol. Those two riders followed Morgana and Lagertha all the way to the gates of Camelot, where they were again accosted. “Hold!” A man called from the gate tower. “Who goes there?”

“My name is Lagertha,” the shieldmaiden called back. “I have a message for King Uther Pendragon.”

“What is the message?”

“I will speak it where he can hear it.”

A pause. “Is you errand a pressing matter?”

Lagertha gave Morgana a wide-eyed look of exasperated disbelief. “Would I subject myself to this if it wasn’t?”

Another pause. “You cannot bring your weapons and shields inside the walls.”

The shieldmaiden unbuckled her sword from her belt and laid it on the ground, and then set her shield next to it. Morgana did the same. They waited.

Fifteen minutes later, armed guards trotted out through the gate. A knight followed behind them and spoke. “You will make no sudden moves or sounds. Come along.” Lagertha and Morgana obeyed and were escorted through the streets of Camelot, the residents scattering before them like grasshoppers, to the great keep. Here, they entered without delay; their coming must’ve been approved already, which gave Morgana hope that they needn’t wait long for an audience. She was correct. When the grand doors of the royal court opened for them, they found the king on his throne, the prince standing at his side, many nobles of the realm lining the hall, and Gaius, Merlin, and Gwen tucked into an out-of-the-way corner. Morgana forced herself not to make eye contact with them; Gwen in particular might see through her disguise.

“Approach the throne,” their knight escort commanded – not that either of them had waited for instructions. Morgana suspected that he, the king, and the critical members of court had guessed their purpose; they surely knew that the royal ward hadn’t returned from her ride yesterday evening.

Lagertha stopped at the appropriate distance. “King Uther Pendragon,” the blonde warrior said in a clear voice for the whole court to hear, “my name is Lagertha. I lead a host of Vikings.”

“Then I should have you killed,” the king said coldly.

“I’ve come to demand ransom for Morgana.” As gasps raced around the room – some hadn’t anticipated this, it seemed – she took items from her pocket and extended her open hand. “I have her ring and her necklace. Examine them, if you want.”

The king nodded to his son, who stepped forward. Prince Arthur’s face was a mask as he inspected the jewelry. “They’re the royal ward’s,” he said stiffly, and returned to his father’s side.

“Deliver to me a ransom commensurate for Morgana Pendragon,” Lagertha said calmly, “or you will never see your daughter again.”

Amid the court’s stunned silence, Uther’s eyes grew icy with fury and narrowed at the Viking. “You are misinformed, barbarian. The Lady Morgana is a member of my household as my ward.”

“I don’t repeat myself.”

“You are mad to think that you can come here, to the heart of my domain, and dictate outrageous terms to me.”

Lagertha gave the shrug Morgana knew well. “You can keep your pretense, or you can keep your daughter.”

“You have,” Uther growled, “no honor, Northern scum.”

“I told both of my children who they are, Briton.”

The king snarled. “Guards-”

“Sire.” All eyes went to Prince Arthur.

“How dare you interrupt your father the king,” Uther growled.

“Father, you know her raiders will have orders to kill Morgana if they do not soon return.”

“They are convinced that Morgana has royal blood, Prince Arthur. I cannot change their simple, savage minds, and I cannot empty my kingdom’s treasury for a knight’s daughter, no matter how much I care for her.”

“Are you resigned to her death?” Arthur was appalled. 

“The Lady Morgana is undoubtedly being held aboard their ship, away from the shore and out of our reach. If these were civilized people, we might take their leader captive and offer an exchange, but her men would of course abandon her. Raiders are without honor, duty, or discipline, Arthur. We are in a corner with no acceptable outcome. When you become king, you will know such tragedies all too well.”

“Or,” Arthur said darkly, “Morgana is your daughter.”

“Don’t waste your thoughts on this rat’s grab for treasure, Prince Arthur. Guards, haul these vermin to the dungeon.”

Arthur’s firm voice stopped the guards before they moved. “Is Morgana my sister?”

Uther’s face turned grim, and his voice forebode anger. “You have let these raiders distract you, Arthur.”

“Is she,” the Prince repeated, his voice rising with tension, “my sister?”

“This is the king’s court, son, and you are out of line.”

“Why won’t you answer?”

“You dare question my honor?”

“I do!” The reverberation of his voice from the vaulted stone ceiling made Morgana, and more than a few others, wince. “You would sooner let Morgana die than admit you sired her?”

“My Lord King, if I may speak.” Gaius had approached to the edge of the court, and his polite voice made Uther pause – and made Morgana’s jaw clench.

“Yes, Gaius. Perhaps yours is the voice of reason my son needs.”

“I question who gave these raiders the idea that the Lady Morgana is your daughter,” the physician said. “They would not invent a claim that she has royal blood and expect you to pay ransom for her. A Briton must have told them that the royal ward is your daughter. The only Briton we know they have had contact with is the Lady Morgana herself.”

Uther’s eyes widened just slightly before turning hard again. “What are you suggesting?”

“I would suggest two possibilities. Morgana may have come to believe she is your daughter, or she may be using these Vikings and our sympathies in a ploy to gain power in Camelot.”

Morgana needed every fiber of her self-control to stop her fingers from curling into fists.

“That’s outrageous.” All eyes went to Arthur, who looked livid. “How can you imagine that Morgana could ever want the king to wrongfully claim her as his daughter? She is not some conniving usurper. We know her.”

“You would be surprised,” Gaius said darkly.

At that, Morgana’s right hand made a fist anyway – and from the edge of her vision, she saw Gwen notice. Her eyes, operating on instinct, locked with her servant’s, which widened in recognition. Praying to the Triple Goddess that her friend would trust her, Morgana relaxed her hand and gave Gwen a barely perceptible shake of her head. Gwen stared for another moment, then tore here eyes away and focused on the debate at the throne, looking stiff and tense.

“What do you mean by that?” Arthur demanded of the physician. His tone was even darker than Gaius’s had been.

“She is not what she seems.”

The prince pushed back hard. “She has proven herself to be just, compassionate, and brave as any knight in Camelot.” He turned to the king. “You know that as well as anyone.”

Morgana had to consciously keep her smirk in check. She wanted to hug her half-brother for taking that jab at Uther. Hopefully, he would keep arguing against Gaius, because the damned physician not only had guessed her plan, but also knew that she was a sorceress. He was one leap of imagination away from identifying her. Morgana kept her eyes off of him and on her father and brother. The king surely recognized that Gaius was correct, but if he used Gaius’s pretense that she was lying as his justification for abandoning her in the hands of raiders, he’d just as surely lose Arthur forever. He could have his son become king, or he could have his son. Morgana had no wish to force so harsh a choice on Uther, but perhaps that’s what it would take to make him admit the truth. The prospect sickened her; to be accepted not for her own worth, but because her father valued another’s more.

“Whether or not the Lady Morgana for some reason imagines she has royal blood,” Gaius said, “if she told these raiders that she is the king’s daughter, then it is because she saw her ransom as an opportunity to blackmail the king. She surely knows the pain she is causing us and the divisions she is sowing among us.”

Prince Arthur rose to the challenge. “Then Morgana would only do this if she knew beyond all doubt that she is the king’s daughter.” He addressed Lagertha. “Did Morgana tell you-”

“She said her name was Morgana Pendragon.” The blonde raider showed impatience. “Make up your minds.”

Morgana worried about the king’s mind. Gaius’s intervention and Arthur’s response had left Uther out of the argument, and that never ended well. Indeed, when he opened his mouth, it was to say, “It does not matter whether she believes she is my daughter. I cannot tolerate such behavior. I will not-”

“Such behavior?” Arthur’s jaw dropped. “All she did was say her name!”

“We should also consider that she may have arranged her supposed capture,” Gaius replied, “with her ransom as payment for these raiders’ help.”

Lagertha took immediate and harsh offense. “I’m a Viking, not a swindler. I’m tolerating your insults, but soon the ransom won’t be worth the effort.”

Arthur didn’t leave the others a chance to reply. “As for whether she believes she is your daughter,” he said to the king, “you’re right; that doesn’t matter. What matters is whether she is your daughter – and since the Vikings first made their demand, you have not once denied it.”

“What difference would it make if she is? These rats will take her ransom and keep her as well. They’ll make demands until they grow bored, and then they’ll kill her.”

“So she is my sister.” The prince’s voice came out thick.

“Don’t be ridicu-”

“All this time!”

“Arthur!”

“You lied to both of us! She should’ve been family.”

“She could not have been! Camelot has no room for an illegitimate heir, and certainly not a female one.”

“Illegitimate,” Arthur repeated with revulsion. “That’s all Morgana has ever been to you, isn’t it.”

“How dare you,” the king hissed. “I loved her as much as my position allowed.”

The prince’s reply started cold and grew heated. “I don’t want to hear you say ‘how dare you’ ever again. As much as your position allowed? Was she not important enough to know her own father?”

“You are naïve, boy. Ruling this kingdom requires me to be a father to all Britons.”

“Is that what you’ll tell Morgana, when she comes home?”

“I-“ It would’ve been shouted, but the king stopped himself. “I will tell her that the greater good requires sacrifices from a ruler. She may not agree, but she will come to understand. You will, too.”

“So you’ve said for my whole life-”

“Because you still have the mind of a child, Arthur.”

“And every time,” the prince continued, “I grow more convinced that it’s people like Morgana who have the right of it, not you. I suppose I shouldn’t assume that you’ll ransom her now, even though you’ve admitted that she shares our blood. Will you?”

Lagertha spoke up, her voice clear and even. “I will release Morgana Pendragon, alive and unharmed, in exchange for gold and jewels weighing two thousand pounds.” Around the hall, faces winced at the number.

The king glowered at her. “Do you swear it?”

“I wouldn’t demean my word by offering it to you.”

The king opened his mouth to shout, but again stopped himself. “I accept your terms. Tell me the location of your ship and I will have your gold carted there.”

All that proposal earned was a scoff. “No. When the ransom is loaded on your carts, I will lead your men to my ship. When we arrive, I will present your princess, but my men will guard her until we’ve loaded the treasure aboard. Then we will leave her to you.”

“It is agreed.” The king sounded hollow. “I hope you’re satisfied, Prince Arthur.”

“Not in the slightest, Sire.”

At that, Lagertha looked at Morgana and raised an eyebrow. Morgana stepped forward. She closed her eyes, focused her mind, and waved her hand over her face. The gasps and oaths of the court confirmed that her magic had succeeded in restoring her appearance. Meeting the king’s wide eyes, she said, “Hello, father.”

The hall went as silent as the void.

“Wh-” The king cleared his throat. “What devilry is this?”

Her father’s reaction to the sight of his daughter made Morgana seethe with anger. “The only devilry is your own heartlessness coming back to haunt you. You denied your own daughter, Uther Pendragon. You lied to me all my life, permitted my brother to court me, were even willing to let me die to protect your pretense of integrity. Your son had to drag you, kicking and wailing like the child you accuse him of being, into acknowledging my existence. Soon, all of Britain will know how you’ve treated me. What next, father? What do you say, now that magic has awoken inside me?” Morgana resisted the temptation to add more. As much as she wanted to vent all of her pain, it wouldn’t serve her purpose to do so now. No, now was the time to hold Uther over the cliff's edge and watch him squirm.

Squirm he did, searching for a way to reassert control in a nightmare hopelessly out of hand. “Guards, arrest the Viking and-”

Morgana’s voice cut like steel. “She is a guest of the Princess.”

The king’s jaw worked. His eyes burned and his fists clenched. “You abuse the hospitality of the king’s hall-”

“As did you, when you made me your ward.”

“Morgana! You-”

The sorceress extended her upturned palm and willed a tongue of fire to spring from it. From the corners of her eyes, she saw all but the most experienced of the royal guard shrink back. “What say you, father? We’re at court, and you’re the king. Is your firstborn guilty?”

As the king’s eyes bulged and his fists clenched again, Arthur took a step towards his half-sister. “Morgana, I hear your grief and anger. I feel those same emotions, though surely not as painfully as you do. But please, sister, think before you tear this kingdom apart.”

“Your mother must’ve been a thoughtful woman,” Morgana replied, with little grief or anger in her voice. “You would make a good king, if you hold to that. But right now, brother, our father is the king, and I will not leave this hall until he recognizes my existence, including my magic.”

“It is plain,” King Uther began, his face red and his voice unsteady with anger of his own, “That your newfound magic has corrupted your heart and filled you with venom for those you once held dear. Why else would you conspire with enemies of the realm? Your actions, Morgana, confirm what I have always said; sorcery cannot be tolerated. You will be executed at once. Guards, take her to the square.”

The guards shifted on their feet and looked to their captain, and then to the prince when he said softly, “So this is who you really are.”

“It is tragic,” the king said, “but it is the truth of magic. Captain! Are your men enthralled?”

“I wasn’t talking about my sister.”

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

“She didn’t ask to be your daughter. All we ever needed to do was treat her as family, but you denied her a father – and for how long has she lived in fear that you’d discover her magic? Sorcery didn’t drive her to ally with a Viking. We did. We deserve her venom.” Arthur left his father and walked to his sister. “We failed you. I’m sorry, Princess Morgana Pendragon.”

Morgana squeezed her eyes and lips shut, took a long breath in through her nose, and embraced him. When she felt him withdraw, the first words out of her mouth were “Thank you.”

He nodded and spoke quietly. “Sister, I don’t think you two should linger here. The sooner the royal house moves forward from this scene, the better.”

“He’s right,” Lagertha said, keeping a wary eye on the twitchy-looking king.

“Agreed, and I need to get out of this armor, too. I-” Morgana looked to Gwen, then remembered the whole court was watching them. “We should adjourn court for the day.”

The prince glanced at the assembled nobles. “Indeed,” he said, sounding grim. “I suggest you retire to your chambers. When you’re out the door, I’ll see about adjourning with as much grace as the circumstances allow.”

Morgana nodded, then decided to embrace him again. “I know I gave you a hard time, growing up,” she murmured, “but I’m glad you’re here.” With that, she called Gwen to accompany her and swept from the hall. Everyone, she noticed, gave her plenty of room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, don't forget to leave a comment :)


	5. Chapter 5

Morgana did not immediately take her brother’s suggestion to retire, and instead led Gwen and Lagertha through the keep to the kingdom’s archives. “Guard the entrance,” she told them. “Nobody enters or leaves until I’m done.” Lagertha nodded and planted her feet in the doorway. The raider-dressed sorceress continued through the shelves, brushing past a bewildered archivist, to the records of genealogy. She knew where the book of the house of Gorlois would be – her ten-year-old self had left tearstains on several of its pages – and she found it dusty but intact. She held it level, dropped it, caught it with magic an inch above the floor – she was gaining confidence with her powers – and sent it on a different path through the shelves as she walked back to the entrance. The archivist nodded to her as she left, but didn’t notice the book pass behind him. “Let’s go,” she told her friends. Once Gwen shut the door behind them, Morgana brought the book to her hand and tucked it under her arm, then strode purposefully towards the stairs to her hall.

“What book is that?” Gwen asked, hurrying to keep up.

“The Gorlois genealogy,” Morgana answered. “I can’t let anything happen to the official record of my birthdate.”

Gwen went silent.

* * *

Relief washed through Morgana when the door of her chambers closed behind her. Outside, there might be turmoil, but she, Lagertha, and Gwen were sheltered from it. It was an illusion, of course, but it was a comforting one, and Morgana needed comfort.

The shieldmaiden spoke. “Do you have a mirror?”

She grinned at Lagertha. “I do.” She went to the one on her dressing table and viewed herself in Viking armor and braids. “Gods, I look deadly,” she admired.

“Keep the outfit,” the shieldmaiden said. “Maybe it’ll be useful, if you ever come to Norway.”

“Thank you. If you’ll wait while I change?”

“Of course.” The blonde found a chair and settled in.

Morgana turned to her servant. “Riding clothes, Gwen. You, too, after we’re finished.”

“Yes, my L- Your Highness,” Gwen corrected herself, sounding stilted, and turned towards Morgana’s wardrobe with a stiff movement that was out of character for her.

Morgana felt apprehension rising inside her chest. “Gwen, there’s something I need to hear from you.”

Gwen faced her again, still stiff. “Ma’am?”

“Gwen,” Morgana said, struggling to keep her voice level, “I need you to tell me whether you’ve lied to me or withheld anything from me about my blood or my magic.”

“No!” The serving girl went from stiff to appalled. “My Lady, no, never.”

A sudden lump in Morgana’s throat preempted any spoken reply. On impulse, she stepped close and pulled her servant into a hug. Gwen’s hesitant and ginger reciprocation tore a hole in Morgana’s heart. Moving her hands to the woman’s shoulders, she stepped back and found her eyes. “Gwen,” she said in a voice quavering with emotion, “Every relationship I have has been shaken by lies, except one. I nee-” Her voice broke, but she tried again despite the tears welling in her eyes. “Do I still have you?”

Gwen’s eyes glinted with impending tears of her own. “I-I don’t know, My Lady. I’m afraid.”

“Gwen, why? Why would you ever feel afraid of me?”

“Because you used sorcery and a raider to coerce the king.” Gwen’s voice quavered. “Seeing you confront him… I’m afraid of what else you might do.”

“What I might do?” Morgana frowned. “What do you think I’d do?”

“I mean that it isn’t far from that attitude to cruelty.”

“Cruelty…” Morgana shut her eyes. “No, Gwen, I could never.”

Gwen let out a breath. “I suppose it’s true that, if you didn’t give in to it today, it’s hard to imagine that you ever would.”

Morgana swallowed hard. Gwen made a hopeful point, but it’d taken coaching from Lagertha and several acts of self-control not to cross any further lines today. “If I hadn’t forced the issue,” she said, “and I had gone on trying to live here as Uther’s ward, maybe I would’ve…” She didn’t finish the thought.

“Since you realize that,” Gwen said, sounding calmer, “I have hope that you never will.”

“Gwen, you need to know that I had help. Lagertha helped me steer my thoughts away from vengeance.”

Gwen wet her lips again. “You seem very… at ease with her, Your Highness.”

Morgana almost asked what Gwen meant, but her only purpose in asking was to pretend she didn’t know, and that was not the person Morgana wanted to be. “When she captured me for ransom, she said no one would touch me, but one of her men tried to force himself on me. She stopped him immediately,” she assured her horrified servant. “She executed him in front of her warband, then released me because she’d fallen short of her word.”

“Just like that? She gave up a royal ransom?”

Morgana nodded. “Honesty and respect mean far more to her than to the father-figures I have here. I trust her, and that grew into friendship.”

“You felt alone, and she was there for you,” Gwen mused, “even though there was seemingly nothing in it for her.”

“What do you mean by ‘seemingly’?” Morgana’s brows knit at Gwen’s unexpected choice of words.

“She didn’t get a ransom, but she won the favor of a royal sorceress,” Gwen explained. “That’s at least as valuable.”

“I know. She earned it.”

Gwen considered her with silent, gentle eyes. “You really see that Viking as a friend.”

Only Gwen’s soft tone prevented the words ‘that Viking’ from igniting Morgana’s anger. The thought of the harsh words she might’ve loosed upon her friend in response filled her with shame and doubt. How close was she to the line? Damn it, everything had felt simple when it was only her and Lagertha. “After she killed the man,” Morgana tried to explain, “we talked until the pre-dawn twilight. That conversation is the reason I’m not being harsher on Uther, Gwen. It’s true that she would’ve killed me in the blink of an eye, if she thought she had a reason to, but it’s also true that she’s trustworthy, loyal, honest, and considerate. If you met her in a market or a tavern, you’d like her.”

Gwen nodded in acceptance. “I believe you, Your Highness. Just, please, remember that you’re a princess. Your trust has consequences far beyond your own life.”

“I’ll try to get used to it.” Morgana swallowed again. “Does this mean I still have you?”

This time, Gwen sounded certain. “You do, Your Highness.”

The sorceress let out a ragged sigh of relief, and with it came tears. She pulled Gwen into a new embrace. “Thank you.” This time, Gwen held Morgana close as she wept. “Gwen, whenever we aren’t around people who expect formality, I want you to call me by my name.”

“I will, Morgana.” Gwen drew in a deep breath. “May I speak freely?”

“Yes, always. Your friendship is far more important to me than our stations.”

Gwen sniffed. “Thank you, Morgana.” She drew back enough to meet the princess’s eyes. “I’m concerned for you. Seeing you today…” she wet her lips. “It seems like the only reason there hasn’t been a fight is that Uther was stunned by Prince Arthur embracing you. If he hadn’t defended your character right after I recognized you, I don’t know what I would think right now. I still don’t know what to think of your sorcery…”

Morgana had an idea, and her magic ideas had gone well so far. She rested her right hand on Gwen’s cheek, wiped away a tear with her thumb, and then imagined brushing away the one on her other cheek. The teardrop slid sideways to the edge of her friend’s cheekbone, then fell onto her dress.

“Morgana…” Gwen gripped the princess’s hand. “Be the one to wipe away Britain’s tears.”

“I’ll-” Morgana took a deep breath; the trust undergirding Gwen’s words had chased the air from her lungs. “I’ll try.” She took another breath, and felt herself smile. “Would you take my hair down and make me look like I live here?”

* * *

When the two finished at the wardrobe and rejoined Lagertha, the shieldmaiden stood and spoke in her warlord’s tone. “Are you Morgana’s friend?”

Gwen stopped and stood straighter. “I am.” Her voice verged on defiance.

Lagertha stepped closer until they were eye-to-eye. “Then keep her very, very close. Friends are precious, and they so often pass too soon. Bring her joy and keep her safe, Gwen.”

The servant clearly hadn’t expected that. “I-I will, ma’am.”

“And you may be certain,” the Viking continued, “that if I ever learn you’ve betrayed Morgana, you will die at my hands.”

As Lagertha spoke, Morgana watched Gwen’s eyes widen with fright, then harden into flints. “Likewise, Lagertha.”

The shieldmaiden returned the servant’s gaze in kind – and smiled. “Well met, Gwen.”

Gwen relaxed somewhat but didn’t reply directly. “How does a woman become a fighter and warlord?”

“Why,” Morgana teased, “does that appeal to you?”

“No, I-” she glared at Morgana, who laughed. “I’m curious, Lagertha. I’ve never heard of someone like you.”

“You train with weapons from an early age,” the shieldmaiden explained, “start fighting in real battles in your teens, gain experience, and build your reputation until people want to follow you.”

“And a woman can do that in your culture?”

Lagertha nodded. “Not many choose to, but there’s nothing stopping a woman from proving herself. We’re called shieldmaidens.”

“Not swordmaidens?” Gwen asked, frowning. “Does that mean you’re second-class fighters?”

“Far from it. Holding one’s place in a shield wall is the fundamental task every warrior must be able to do. If the Northmen on your left and right can’t rely on you to keep your shield up, it doesn’t matter how good you are with a sword or an axe.”

“I see.” Gwen left it at that. Morgana suspected she didn’t want to sound like she approved.

“We can talk more on the way back to the ships,” the princess told them, “but I need to see Arthur first. Gwen, get ready to travel, and meet us at the gates with three horses. Come armed.”

Gwen nodded. “Be safe, Morgana.”

On her way out, an impulse of suspicion made Morgana pocket the vial containing Gaius’s sleeping draught from the previous day.

* * *

When Morgana asked for the prince’s location, the answer brought back vivid memories. Down the carved stairs she went, leading Lagertha to Camelot’s dungeon. On finding Arthur’s cell, she leaned her shoulder against the bars, arms folded and nonchalant. “How did it go after I left?”

“Poorly,” the prince huffed, “which was the best I could hope for. As soon as you were away, Uther ordered me imprisoned.”

“Yes, I see that,” Morgana said drily. “I’m surprised the guards obeyed him.”

Arthur grimaced. “They didn’t. I had to order them to obey their king.”

The princess’s jaw and arms dropped. “You threw yourself in prison?”

“Morgana, if our subjects unlearn their obedience to the person on the throne, it will be a nightmare to instill it again.”

“I suppose.” After a day with Lagertha, Morgana had some ideas about how to do it, but they might not be well received in Britain. “Why hasn’t Uther tried to arrest me?”

“Probably because of your Viking companion. Even if you were willing to go quietly to a cell, she wouldn’t be, and you might take her side. Nobody wants that fight.”

Morgana frowned. “Uther would. It’d make me guilty of more than just possessing magic."

“Maybe he doesn’t think the guards will pit themselves against a sorceress for him, or maybe they’re disobeying him again.”

“If you insist they arrest me, too, we’re going to have a problem,” Morgana warned.

“I won’t.”

“Thanks. I came to tell you that I’m leaving to escort Lagertha to her ship, and I’m taking Gwen with me.”

“Gwen?” Arthur showed new concern. “Why?”

“I don’t particularly want to ride back here alone.”

“As you wish. When you return, please come and talk to me. We have a lot to discuss.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” And she was. After all this time, they’d soon be able to talk seriously about changing Britain for the better. Soon, but not yet. “I don’t like my prospects for a peaceful night's sleep if you’re in prison.”

“If Uther can’t execute you, I doubt he’ll leave me here. He’ll want me between you and himself.”

“That’s probably the best thing for everybody,” Morgana said.

“Prince Arthur.” Lagertha stepped close to the cell’s bars. “I’m relieved to see that Morgana has someone as honorable as you in her family. Take good care of each other.”

Arthur seemed lost for words, but he found some. “I wish you good health and a safe voyage home, Lagertha.”

The shieldmaiden smirked. “Don’t worry, I’m leaving.”

“I’ll hurry back,” Morgana promised her brother. “Sit tight.”

“Very funny,” he grumbled at her departing figure.

* * *

The pair wasted no time leaving the city. Just outside the gates, Gwen awaited them with three saddled horses, as well as their swords and shields. They rode fast until Camelot was out of sight behind them, then slowed to spare their mounts. Lagertha took the opportunity to guide her horse alongside Morgana’s and say, “I see why you thought about killing your father.”

The princess sighed. She hadn’t expected a positive response from Uther, but it still stung. “He sentenced me to death. If you were me, would you kill him now?”

Lagertha pursed her lips. “He said that as the rightful king, according to a fair application of his laws, objectionable though they are. Merely doing his job doesn’t make him your enemy. You’ll have to learn how he views you personally before you decide. Even if he hates you, you may still be in a better political position with him alive than if you kill him.”

“That’s not one of your two acceptable states for people,” Morgana pointed out.

“No, it’s a temporary circumstance which you endure because the alternatives are worse.” Lagertha paused, seeming to consider a new thought. “Since so much of our conversation has been about killing, I should add something. Morgana, don’t use the threat of death – or of anything – to get what you want unless you’ve considered the consequences and you’re willing to kill. Don’t bluff, ever. It’s not worth the risk to your reputation if someone calls the bluff.” She gave the princess a knowing smile. “It’ll also help you avoid being too harsh on people.”

“I think I needed to hear that last part,” Morgana confessed. “Thank you again.”

Lagertha’s smile warmed. “Assuming you aren’t an outlaw, what will you do now?”

Morgana sighed. “What I want, what I dearly want, is to find someone who will take me as their apprentice in sorcery. I also want to stay in Camelot until the politics settle. This is my time to establish my place at the table. I'm the only noble with magic, too; without my presence as a visible reminder, the others might forget that people like me are human.”

“If the ban on magic gets relaxed,” Gwen suggested, “you might be able to persuade a sorceress to move to Camelot and be your tutor.”

“That might be ideal,” Morgana mused.

“If you put out a public call for a teacher,” Lagertha said, “I’m sure you’ll get volunteers. Just remember that many will be drawn by the prestige of the position. Think about ways to spread your request quietly. If it’s possible, make it clear that their role will be secret.”

Morgana nodded but said no more. During the lull, she noticed Gwen chewing her lower lip. “What’s on your mind, Gwen?”

“Morgana…” She didn’t continue.

“Please,” the princess insisted, “your opinion matters to me.”

“How many of your conversations have been about killing people?”

Lagertha answered for her friend. “We talked about the man I executed, and then we argued about my raiding. Morgana asked once before whether I would kill the people who betrayed her, if I was in her place.”

“Would you?”

“From what she’s told me, no, I wouldn’t. After meeting your king, though, I’m surprised that no one has already.”

Morgana gave Gwen a weak smile. “Are you reassured?”

Gwen paused. “I am. I also appreciate your warnings about harshness, Lagertha.“

“She’s concerned about me,” Morgana explained for the Viking.

Lagertha nodded. “As soon as you return to Camelot, you need to begin shaping your people’s opinions of you. For every time they see you being harsh, show them your honorable and generous sides several times. You want people to go home each day talking about how glad they are to have you in a position of power.”

“You’re full of good advice,” Morgana said with admiration.

“How did you learn so much about politics?” Gwen asked.

Lagertha rolled her eyes. “A lifetime of watching men get it wrong. That’s part of why I want power; I’m convinced I’ll be a better leader and ruler than the ones we have now.”

“So you’re from a noble bloodline?”

The shieldmaiden chuckled at the servant’s question. “I’m a farm girl whose father taught her to fight.”

“Then how can you ever become a lord?” Gwen asked, clearly confused.

“Possibly by marriage, but much more likely by force. Perhaps some of both.”

Gwen said nothing for a while. “Do you think you’ll ever be a farmer again?”

“Sometimes.” Lagertha met Morgana’s surprised look with a shrug. “I can’t fight forever. I refuse to be a ruler who clings to power while growing decrepit, and I couldn’t stand living in my son’s house with nothing to do.”

“You have a son?” It was Gwen’s turn to be surprised.

“I do, a boy named Bjorn. My daughter, Gyda, I lost to plague.”

Morgana’s heart tightened. “Oh, Lagertha…”

“I’m so sorry,” Gwen said, showing sincere sympathy.

The shieldmaiden blinked a few times and thanked them. “I’ll never know who she would’ve become. It’s an evil thing, when a child dies.”

“Do your raids kill children?”

Gwen got an icy glare in response. “No. My fighters know I’ll cut their throats if they do.”

Gwen nodded, then looked to Morgana with quirking lips. “You were right. She is considerate, in her own savage way.”

“Better that than callous in a civilized way,” Morgana replied.

“I’m beginning to see your point.”

At that, the princess looked to the shieldmaiden, who nodded. “Gwen,” Morgana said, “someday Lagertha may ask me to help her, like she helped me today. If she calls, I’ll answer, no matter the distance or the danger. I’m telling you because I don’t want you to be surprised when I invite you to come with me.”

The servant’s brow furrowed. “You wouldn’t require me to go with you?”

“You aren’t a soldier. I don’t expect you to fight for me.”

Gwen smiled. “I’ll do that whether or not you expect me to, Morgana.”

The sorceress felt a wash of warmth as she smiled back. “That means a great deal to me, Gwen. My point is only that I’m the one who exchanged oaths with Lagertha, not you.”

“You did what?” Gwen wasn’t smiling now.

“I gave her my word that I’ll help her the way she’s helped me.”

“Morgana,” Gwen said, struggling to keep calm, “a princess of Britain can’t be beholden to a Viking.”

“She’s not beholden to me,” Lagertha replied. “If I call on her for aid, she’ll answer because she’s my friend. Her oath simply gave voice to that truth.”

“But she owes you a favor,” Gwen insisted.

“Gwen,” Morgana said, “I will fight for her whether she expects me to or not.”

Gwen nodded at that. “I see.” She went quiet for a while, then asked softly, “Morgana, are you the rightful heir to the throne?”

With a clench of her jaw, Morgana spurred her horse onward. “I am.”

* * *

Upon nearing the wood where they’d made their oaths, Lagertha asked Morgana, “Were you serious about sparring?”

The princess laughed. “I was, but I don’t think we have time.”

“We can spare five minutes, Morgana.”

“Morgana,” Gwen said, “there’s no knowing when you’ll get another chance.”

The princess smiled at her servant. “Thank you.” A few minutes of searching found them a glade with enough even ground for a comfortable fight. “Since we are pressed for time,” Morgana said as she dismounted, “if there’s no winner after two minutes, we’ll call it a draw.”

“Alright.” Lagertha unslung her shield and drew her shortsword – and Morgana suddenly felt nervous. Getting even one hit on the Viking without a shield of her own looked like a tall order. The princess drew her longsword. Damn, she felt exposed. She might as well be naked.

“I’ll keep time,” Gwen offered.

“Thank you.” Morgana adjusted her grip and her stance. “I’m ready.”

“I also,” Lagertha said.

Gwen nodded at them both. “Then… um, begin!”

Morgana watched warily, nerves and senses on edge, as Lagertha closed in on her. The princess shifted her guard, planning a double feint to open up the shieldmaiden, and-

Something abrupt and violent happened with a shield and a sword, and then her hands grasped at air as steel pressed against her throat. Lagertha’s blue eyes filled Morgana’s vision.

Gwen cleared her throat. “That… was… nine seconds.”

When the shieldmaiden stepped back and picked up Morgana’s sword, the princess’s breath returned. “What did you do?!”

“I saw that you were nervous,” Lagertha answered, “and guessed that a surprise bash would loosen your grip. Then I disarmed you.”

“Damn it,” Morgana snarled, kicking herself.

“Be glad. Now you won’t make that mistake in a real fight.” Lagertha handed over her sword. “Want to try again?”

“Can’t leave you with that weak impression of me,” Morgana muttered.

Lagertha smiled. “I already know you’re strong, Morgana.” Then, to Gwen: “Ready.”

Morgana forced herself to lighten her death-grip on her sword’s hilt; sore hands would be easy to disarm, too. “Ready.”

This time, Morgana didn’t wait for Lagertha to make the first move. She stalked towards her and circled left, away from Lagertha’s shield. With her longer sword, she had an advantage as long as she kept enough distance to swing it. She made a probing feint, but Lagertha brushed it aside without opening herself to attack. That was bad; she’d have to commit and draw the Viking into a clash of blades in order to find a way past her shield. Morgana took a breath and went for it, swinging with more power at Lagertha’s sword side.

The blonde twisted towards Morgana’s attack, took the blow on her shield, and used her momentum to continue spinning around, whipping her sword towards Morgana’s neck. The sorceress ducked and dove forward, rolling past Lagertha and springing to her feet. She thought that would buy her a moment, but by the time she’d faced her opponent, Lagertha was upon her again, shoving her sword aside with her shield and leaving her open. Morgana took her left hand off her sword, stepped forward, and blocked the shieldmaiden’s sword-stroke forearm-to-forearm. They were eye-to-eye again.

“Draw!”

Morgana was taken aback. “Really?”

“All the ways out of this cause injuries,” Lagertha said.

“True. We’ll call it a draw.” They backed off. “How about swords only?” The sorceress suggested.

Lagertha looked bemused. “Didn’t you train to fight against enemies with shields?”

“You use yours with much more energy than a Briton,” Morgana admitted.

The shieldmaiden chuckled. “Well, in the spirit of friendship…” She tossed her shield far enough away that they wouldn’t trip on it. “I liked the roll, by the way.”

“Much appreciated. I needed it when you came whipping at me. That was impressive.”

“Thank you.” Lagertha set herself to fight. “Ready?”

Morgana had no doubt that the shieldmaiden’s strategy would be to get inside her reach, and she was right. When Gwen set them going, Lagertha charged. Morgana waited, then side-stepped towards the Viking’s left and swung her sword. Lagertha again turned and blocked, but Morgana was well warmed-up now. She swept her sword down and around Lagertha’s arm, then stabbed at her. The movement left her unguarded, she knew, but that was the point. Lagertha dodged the stab and swung at her exposed side, but Morgana spun out of the way. Now the Viking was at the end of her swing, extended and wide open, and because Morgana’s sword was longer, she couldn’t dodge in time. Morgana whipped her sword towards her opponent, aiming for the point to stop just in front of Lagertha’s neck. It’d be the perfect-

The shieldmaiden ducked and swept Morgana’s legs out from under her. She fell, landing hard on her side. Lagertha scrambled on top of her and straddled her, holding her down with her weight and pinning the wrist of Morgana’s sword arm. Once again, Morgana’s senses filled with the press of cold, sharp steel against her neck and the dangerous, captivating blue of Lagertha’s eyes.

 _“Yield,”_ the Viking commanded in a husky growl. Her breath tickled the princess’s lips, making Morgana glance at Lagertha’s own. In a heartbeat, she was breathless again. Lagertha, trustworthy, generous, gorgeous Lagertha, was so, so close… Morgana looked to her eyes again and saw that they’d changed. No longer fierce, now they were bated and questioning. Morgana felt herself soften as she gazed into them – and then the shieldmaiden seemed to melt on top of her. The blade’s press on her throat relaxed, Lagertha’s face lowered closer, and Morgana smiled. Lagertha smiled, too, and then their lips met. At the first soft kiss, Morgana forgot the sword in her hand, the forest around them, the castle behind them and the ships ahead, the lies and the liars – everything but Lagertha. She kissed like a woman freed and flying, holding on tight to the warrior above her. She kissed until her mind buzzed and her lungs burned.

Lagertha picked her head up and gasped. “You’re good,” she said.

“You’re better,” Morgana admired.

The shieldmaiden smirked. “I know.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes. “Are we still talking about sparring?”

That won a laugh from Lagertha. “Yes. I was right about ‘fencing’; you learned to fight with your sword, not your whole body.”

“I’ll work on that,” the sorceress assured her. “And when I master sorcery…”

“You’ll be worthy of the greatest sagas.” She went for another kiss, but Morgana stopped her. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I just, um… Gwen,” Morgana said lamely.

Lagertha’s brows knit. “Do you want her to join us?”

“What?!” Morgana’s eyes flew wide. “No, no, I meant I don’t want to make her wait and try to ignore us.”

“Is that not expected of a servant in Britain?”

“Um…” the princess cringed inside. “Not usually.”

“I won’t push you, but…” the shieldmaiden made seductive eyes. “I wouldn’t call this ‘usual’.”

“Fair point.” Morgana looked around, but saw no sign of her servant. “Gwen?”

Her voice came from some distance. _“Yes, Your Highness?”_

Morgana felt herself redden, and she gave Lagertha a dirty look when the woman laughed. “Thank you, Gwen,” she called.

 _“Of course, my-”_ there was a pause. _“Morgana. I’ll watch the road.”_

“You’re exceptionally fortunate to have her for a servant,” Lagertha said, smirking.

“Oh, I kno-” the rest was smothered by a deep, fierce, loin-heating kiss.

* * *

“Lagertha…” Even allowing for her situation – lying at a Viking’s side, resting her head beneath her chin – Morgana was unaccustomed to feeling this unsure of herself. “On the way to Camelot, you said that if two people want to keep each other close, then they’ll find a way.”

“I left out the caveat about fate having other plans,” Lagertha replied gently.

Morgana found the Viking’s hand and held it. “I would do anything to keep you close, except leave my kingdom.”

The shieldmaiden breathed deep of Morgana’s hair. “And I would do anything but stay. So far as I can see, the seas separate our fates.”

“I hate it,” Morgana said, not with anger but with sadness.

“Yet it is part of who we are.”

Morgana squeezed Lagertha’s hand. “Then get yourself in trouble so I have an excuse to see you again.”

Lagertha squeezed back. “I intend to.”

* * *

The sun had set behind the coastal hills before the three reached Lagertha’s ships. On seeing their crews, the full extent of the shieldmaiden’s sacrifice struck Morgana. She was about to tell her fighters that she’d abandoned the goal that inspired them to swear themselves to her. Everything Lagertha wanted to achieve would become more difficult for her. No wonder she wanted an oath.

The sight of the Vikings in their homespun clothing and mismatched armor brought another thought to the sorceress’s mind. “I wouldn’t have thought you brought spare clothes and armor as a general supply.”

At her side, Lagertha’s brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m surprised you had armor to give me that wasn’t someone’s.”

“We don’t. Those were my spares.”

“You gave me your armor?” Morgana asked, scarcely believing her ears.

The shieldmaiden shrugged. “I couldn’t give you anyone else’s.”

They hadn’t even said goodbye and Morgana already felt the prick of tears in her eyes. “Lagertha, I wish I had something to offer you.”

“You’ve already given me a greater treasure than anything I hoped to bring home with me.”

Though she felt a need to duck her head, Morgana couldn’t look away from Lagertha’s eyes. “I just would’ve liked to leave you with something tangible.”

Lagertha reached into a pocket and drew out the little stone shield. “You underestimate yourself, Morgana. You are a good friend – ask Gwen.” She put the shield away and gripped the sorceress’s shoulders. “Morgana, you are wise. You are bold. You are cunning. You’re sharp from keeping constant watch, and you are powerful for making your voice heard. Be the woman you have been today, and the gods will carry you to greatness with no one strong enough to stop you.”

“You make me feel that I really will be queen,” the princess replied.

“I look forward to seeing you wear the crown.”

She looked over Lagertha’s shoulder at the dark sea, and wished that her newest friend would stay, would not sail beyond that black horizon and out of her life. She had few enough friends already. “I would give anything to have you at my side while I pursue it.” The shieldmaiden simply nodded and squeezed her shoulders. “Promise me you’ll call for me,” Morgana blurted.

The shieldmaiden took a half-step closer. Her wide, earnest eyes seared themselves into the sorceress’s memory. “I swear it, Morgana.”

Morgana pulled the Viking into an embrace. “Thank you.” Lagertha held her close, her arms strong through the armor they both wore, and a tear spilled down Morgana’s cheek. After all the lies, the betrayals, and the rejections, and after years of hearing about how magic corrupted people, she’d needed this moment, this reminder that she could still have a relationship worth weeping for. “Thank you, Lagertha.” 

“No matter what happens after I leave, I will always be glad I helped you.”

Morgana nodded against the shieldmaiden, then looked up again and used her sorcery to clear the tears from her eyes. The ships and their crews still awaited their leader. One Viking’s youthful silhouette caught her attention. “Lagertha, I might be able to help Thorunn.”

The blonde stepped back from the embrace to meet Morgana’s eyes. “Are you sure? I don’t want to see her disappointed.”

“I don’t know my powers well enough to make promises,” Morgana cautioned. “I can only try.”

“Then we’ll ask her.” Lagertha turned and called for the young woman to join them. “Morgana might be able to heal your scar.”

Thorunn’s eyes lit with wary hope. “How?”

“With magic,” Morgana answered.

“Do it.”

“I’m still a novice sorceress,” Morgana warned the young woman. “I don’t know if I can restore your skin completely.”

Thorunn frowned hard at her. “Are you likely to make it worse?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then do it.”

Morgana nodded, turned her mind to how she might heal Thorunn, and reached out to touch the scar. It vanished into smooth skin before her fingers even neared it, making the sorceress’s eyes go wide and her breath catch in her throat.

“Dear gods…” Gwen whispered.

“What?” Thorunn demanded.

“You’re healed,” Lagertha said, sounding stunned. “Perfectly.”

The blonde clapped her right hand to her cheek, felt for herself, and wept. Lagertha pulled both of her friends into a hug, and Morgana caught Gwen’s hand so she wouldn’t feel left out. When they parted, Lagertha shooed her protégé away, and Gwen took a few steps towards the shoreline.

“Then this is goodbye,” Morgana said. Her voice sounded hollow in her ears.

“For a while,” Lagertha replied.

Her imminent loss put a lump in her throat. “Lagertha,” she gulped.

The sudden thickness in the her voice prompted the shieldmaiden to curl her hands around the sorceress’s upper arms. “Morgana.”

“Y-” The Briton found herself choking up. “You’ve done more for me in one- in one day than anyone has since I came to Camelot.”

Lagertha smiled, soft and warm, and again hugged Morgana tight. “Be well, my ‘deer’.”

The reminder of their argument, so little time ago, made Morgana burst into laughter. “Good hunting, sea-wolf.”

Stepping back, Lagertha brushed the sorceress’s cheek with her thumb. “Farewell, Morgana.”

Morgana smiled, even as her eyes once more brimmed with tears. “Farewell, Lagertha.”

With a last smile, the Viking turned and walked towards the sea and her ships. As she watched, Morgana felt a thought take hold of her heart, a thought which would not let her be, and she wrestled with it, simultaneously fighting it and embracing it. She didn’t dare speak the thought aloud, but she couldn’t bear to ignore it. It burst free from her grasp and filled her mind: _I love you._

Ahead, Lagertha’s steps faltered. She turned, their eyes met, and she strode back, not stopping until she was close enough for a kiss. “I love you, too,” she whispered, and cupped Morgana’s cheek.

“You heard me?” The sorceress gasped.

The shieldmaiden nodded. “Did you not mean for me to?”

“No,” Morgana admitted, “but I wanted you to.”

Lagertha brought their lips together to make one last shared memory. “May Thor protect you as he protects me, Morgana,” she said, and they clung even tighter than before.

“Go,” the sorceress said at last. This time, Lagertha’s steps carried her all the way to the moonlit waves of the sea. She climbed aboard her longship, and her shouted commands reached Morgana’s ears. The ship moved, slowly but ever faster, towards the night sky’s edge.

Gwen returned to her friend’s side. “She gave you the clothes off her back,” she said softly.

Morgana sniffed against flowing tears. “Not literally.”

“If the armor she’s wearing gets damaged, it will be literal.”

“Yes.” Princess Morgana raised one hand high in a final farewell to the figure standing on the longship’s side, then turned inland. “Let’s go, Gwen. We won’t reform our kingdom by standing here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely loved writing this, and I hope you enjoyed reading it just as much! If you did, leave a comment and let me know. Hearing what you liked means the world to we writers :)


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